


Come along, Barebone!

by SirPylesOfPenice



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Dragons, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Slight touch of internalised homophobia, Slow Build, Slow Burn, the fluff is strong in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-10-10 14:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10439379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirPylesOfPenice/pseuds/SirPylesOfPenice
Summary: In which, Credence goes on adventures with Newt and stumbles upon an Irish dragon trainer with a mischievous smile and possibly a kind heart.





	1. The Woman and the Castle

**Author's Note:**

> This was never meant to be Credence's story, but it just sort of happened that way.
> 
> This whole story began, as so many of mine does, with me doing the dishes whereupon I let my mind wander freely. As an aspiring actress and a fan of the Potter-verse, my mind started conjuring up what kind of a character I wanted to play in the franchise. And sadly, no one had written her yet, so I took it upon myself to do so.
> 
> It's been a long and sometimes scary and winding road as this is my first-ever fan fic. On that note, none of this would ever have happened without two wonderful people who read and comment and love and hold my hand when it gets rough, gently leading me down the path to the whole universe of fan fic.
> 
> My real-life Wilson sisters, without you I couldn't have done this. Thank you <3  
> Two awesome, inspiring and kick-ass people, writers themselves, you can check out their work here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/vilse/pseuds/solinear
> 
> http://findmyflower.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> A lot of you guys inspired me to find my own voice by writing captivating, enchanting stories that got me completely hooked on fan fic. Thank you for your awesome work, maggiedragon, oppisum, saltpans, yorsminroud, bygone boy, hannanotmontana, thymebomb, paradiamond, Nearfisc and Mellow_Yellow, thank you ever so much!
> 
> And, well. That's it I suppose. I'll write and tag as I go, I never really seem to know where Gertie takes me!
> 
> Hope you like it!

Dividing meat into good-sized portions was without doubt his least favorite chore, Credence thought to himself. It wasn't so much that it was heavy and arduous work that bothered him; it was the task itself. The whole thing about wielding the meat cleaver and the sound it made on contact, the feeling that shot through his arm when the blade sunk into meat and bone, it just made his stomach churn and there was something inside him that almost wanted to apologize to the poor chunk of meat he was chopping. But he never complained. Mr. Scamander usually didn't ask Credence to chop meat; he'd seen the unease with which Credence undertook the task and he often tried to give Credence something else to do instead. But tonight, Mr. Scamander had other matters to tend to. Credence raised the cleaver again and bore it down hard on the chunk of meat. The crunching sound when he hit bone made him wince.

There was a soft tap from the ceiling and as he looked up the wooden ladder, Mr Scamander's freckled face was looking down at him.

“We're here,” he said and shook his ginger hair out of his eyes. “Up you come!” His face disappeared and left a rectangle of light streaming down instead. It was the pink and apricot of sundown. “Oh, better bring your coat!” Mr. Scamander added and his face popped into view again. “And maybe a scarf. Spring still seems to be some way away now.”

Credence couldn't help the smile. There was something in the way that Mr Scamander sometimes would treat some people like they were fascinating creatures to be studied and taken care of, that made a warmth spread within Credence. Not the same kind of tingling warmth he had felt with…

Credence quickly brushed that thought and the ghost of that particular memory, away. He shrugged on his woolen coat. It was a rich and deep burgundy and the collar was lined with fur but he took his scarf anyway. The coat had once belonged to a lady, Credence sure could tell. It was different from the coat Mr. Scamander wore in so that it hung differently. To be fair, Credence didn't know much about clothes, but he could tell it was a lady's coat. He didn't mind, he loved it anyway. It had gold embroidery around the cuffs and along the back. It had been the first thing he ever bought in his life, with money Mr. Scamander had given him.

“Consider it payment for the work you've done,” Mr. Scamander had persuaded him when at first he had protested. Reluctantly, Credence had accepted and he had bought the coat from a woman selling a wide assortment of old clothes off a table in the street. He had bought the knitted scarf from an old lady in a market square. The scarf was made up of all the colors of the rainbow and then some. Apparently the lady had knitted it from leftovers from other projects and no one seemed to want such a vibrant scarf. But Credence did. He was sick and tired of black and the fact that the scarf had been rejected by so many others for being different, just made Credence love it even more. The irony was not lost on him, but he didn't really care. Now he wrapped it loosely around himself before he ascended the wooden ladder into the blazing colors of a magnificent sunset across the lake and behind the mountains.

They were standing in front of the ruins of a castle atop a small hill. Half of the castle seemed to have been simply torn off, or maybe even blown away in an explosion. The other half was barely standing, most of the roof had caved in and all the windows were shattered. Vegetation had reclaimed most of the grounds as everything was overgrown and wild and moss and plants clung to the castle walls. All in all, it made Credence shiver a little and he pulled his coat tighter around him. It was a rather unwelcoming place.

“Mr. Scamander,” he said and tugged on the other man's peacock blue sleeve to stop him from going through the wrought iron gates that hung on their hinges, rust discoloring them in patches.  
“Mr. Scamander, I don't think we should… I don't think we're welcome here,” he added quietly, feeling a little silly for the uneasiness inside him.

“Don't worry, Credence. It's perfectly all right. The invitation specifically said we were to go here,” Mr. Scamander said and looked up at the castle with his head slightly tilted to one side. He had tried to convince Credence to call him by his first name but it just didn't feel right, so Credence kept using his last name and somewhere along the way, Mr. Scamander must have gotten used to it because he had stopped asking Credence to use his first name.

Credence had spent countless hours walking behind Mr. Scamander and it always had a soothing effect seeing the lopsided figure briskly walking in front of him, while Credence did his best, trying to keep up with Mr. Scamander’s wobbling gait. He was a strange man indeed, but a kind one at heart, Credence thought to himself as they made their way towards the castle ruins. Though, like Credence, Mr. Scamander rarely seemed at home talking to and interacting with other people. But Credence didn’t mind. He liked being in the company of Mr. Scamander, the man never demanding anything from Credence, never expecting him to chitchat or behave a certain way. Mr. Scamander just let Credence be, and for that Credence was ever grateful.

“Mr. Scamander,” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What happened to the castle?” Mr. Scamander paused with his hand on the disintegrating door. He turned his head a little towards Credence, his brow furrowed like he wasn’t really sure what Credence was asking.

“Erumpent horn,” Mr. Scamander said with a small nod to himself as if agreeing with someone Credence couldn’t hear.. “Quite possibly.” Another small nod. “Most likely,” he added with a third nod. Credence had noticed he often did that. “I should say, about some hundred years ago. Now, come along, Credence!” Mr. Scamander said and pushed the remnants of the door and Credence found himself standing in a derelict hallway, wallpaper peeling of the walls, whole sections of walls having crumbled, parts of the caved in roof blocking what had once been doorways.

“This way,” Mr. Scamander said and walked briskly up a crumbling staircase to the left. “Come along now!” he called down to Credence who quickly followed suit. He didn’t much like the idea of being left alone in the ruins. He found Mr. Scamander in a sitting room that must once have been cozy and comfortable but now it was cold and unwelcoming. The window was broken and cold evening air came seeping through where there once had been glass. Books were scattered all over the place, some seemed to have been burned by something, some had pages all torn out of them. Picture frames lay broken in the debris on the floor. Credence felt dread rising inside him. Had an erumpent horn really caused all this?

“Mr. Scamander,” Credence whispered hesitantly but then he startled as with a pop, a plump woman suddenly turned up. He still hadn’t gotten used to the phenomenon of Apparition. She was wearing brown, dirty overalls that hugged her full-figured body tightly, and she had short, messy, auburn hair in wild disarray. Her face was dirty and most of it was covered by a pair of welding goggles with pitch-black glass. She was wearing oddly shaped, three-fingered leather gloves that reached beyond her elbows.

“Scamander!” the woman barked and Credence shrunk back into the shadows. “Ye’re almost late!” the woman said then and grabbed hold of Mr. Scamander’s arm before anyone could protest. They were gone with a loud ‘pop!’ and Credence felt panic rising inside of him. He looked about the room and tried to find a clue as to where Mr. Scamander might have gone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movements and realized it came from the photographs scattered and torn on the floor. They were magical photographs, their motifs moving and smiling and winking and laughing. He bent down to take a closer look but a loud pop startled him. The woman was standing before him, looking utterly wild with the black glasses covering her eyes and her hair standing on end.

"Come along, Barebone!" the woman barked. A three-fingered leather glove grabbed his wrist and he braced himself for the pressing darkness he knew was coming. But in the split second before it did, Credence glanced around the room one final time and suddenly his stomach dropped, his heart seemed to stop and his lungs no longer drew breath. He thought he'd seen…

And then the darkness pressed all around him, always with that sickening feeling of being suffocated until finally he felt ground beneath his feet again and the tight pressure around his chest disappeared. He found himself in a cave of some sort, a huge fire crackling in the middle of the cave. It rose almost halfway up to the ceiling and the light flicked and cast deep shadows around the vast cave. Slowly circling the fire, was Mr. Scamander, a curious look on his face. The woman was already moving towards the fire, seemingly unnerved by just having Apparated four times in swift succession. Credence still got a little lightheaded whenever he had to go through the suffocating means of transport.

"Where'd you get them?" Mr. Scamander asked softly. The woman was standing so close to the fire, Credence was sure she'd burst into flames herself. The light flickered in the black glass of her welding goggles and gave her an equally menacing and crazed look. Credence tried to catch Mr. Scamander's eyes but the magizoologist was completely engulfed, his full attention focused at something seemingly in the middle of the fire.

"Aren't they lovely?" The woman said, a giddy grin across her face, her teeth almost unnaturally white amidst all the soot and dirt smudges.

"Are they what I think they are?" Mr. Scamander gasped then, having caught sight of something in the fire.

"Yeah," the woman grinned.

"Well, I'll say." Mr. Scamander knelt before the fire, keeping a far more cautious distance than the woman, but Credence could plainly see the curiosity dancing across his face.

"What happened to the mother?" he asked and that's when Credence started hearing a faint sound, like something cracking.

"Zoltàn," the woman snarled and Credence wasn't quite sure whether she had just growled a curse or not. "The spineless, loathsome miscreant murdered her for the scales and claws and heartstring and what have ye."

Mr. Scamander nodded and hummed his understanding with a solemn look upon his face. The woman inched ever closer to the fire. Soon, she would surely be engulfed by it completely.

Credence heard something cracking then, followed by soft squeal. The woman reached her gloved hands into the fire and when they emerged again, completely unharmed to Credence great surprise, they were cradling a creature the size of a small dog.

"Hello," the woman whispered softly and pushed her goggles up her forehead. Where they had been, they left pink pale rings amidst all the soot and dirt. The creature squealed again and the woman brought it close to her chest, stroking it gently with the three-fingered gloves still on. The creature unfolded its arms, which turned out to be wings, and squealed again, a head something like a snake or an Occamy for that matter reached up and sniffed gingerly at the woman. Credence suddenly realized what she was holding.

"Dragons!" he gasped and took a step back.

"Not just dragons, lad," the woman said softly, her giddy smile so wide it almost reached her ears. "The most beautiful and dangerous and lethal kind there is; Hungarian Horntails."

The baby dragon, for though it was quite sizeable for a baby, Credence realized that's what it was, settled in and curled itself up in the woman's lap.

"Newt,” she whispered when another crack was heard from the fire. She held out one of her hands and Mr. Scamander hurried around the fire and pulled off the glove from the woman's outstretched arm. When the gloves came off, two things surprised Credence; one, the woman had all ten fingers intact. He hadn't known what to expect since both gloves were three-fingered. Two, all over her hands and fingers were strange markings in a bluish black. Symbols and letters, he realized, letters spelling words he was too far away to try and read and probably couldn't anyway even if he was close enough to examine the woman's hands. Mr. Scamander pulled a second baby dragon out of the fire and brought it to the woman who cradled it and stroked it gently. It too, squeaked and reached up to sniff her face. It gently shook its snout against her nose and something raw twisted inside Credence at the sight of such pure affection. He heard the cracking sound again.

“There’s another one!” he exclaimed excitedly and took several steps closer to the fire without even noticing. “Mr. Scamander, there’s another one!”

“Yep,” the woman smiled at him. “There were five, I’d reckon but when I found them only three remained.”

“Where are the others?” he asked, looking at the woman cradling the two babies in her lap.

“Poachers. Thieves. Miscreants. They steal the eggs, and sell them to the highest bidder. I fear they’ll end up in someone's bank vault before long,” the woman growled and Credence heart leaped when her bushy eyebrows furrowed that way. She reminded him so much of…

“Credence,” Mr. Scamander interrupted his thoughts. “Would you like to…?” he said and held out the three-fingered leather gloves towards him. Credence glanced at the woman, unconsciously worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

“Go on!” the woman nodded encouragingly. “They won’t bite. Well, not hard anyway,” she added after glancing at Mr. Scamander and the small, crooked smile playing in the corners of his mouth. Credence stuck his hands in the gloves. It felt rather strange to wear them, his fingers needing to pair up and separate unnaturally to fit in the gloves.

“Just reach in and hold out your hands, it should climb onto you by itself,” Mr. Scamander guided him without meeting his eyes. They rarely locked eyes, Mr. Scamander and him, but Credence didn’t mind. After all, he didn’t particularly enjoy staring into people’s eyes himself. He took a deep breath and slowly stuck his gloved hands in the fire, turning his face away, preparing for the searing heat that would surely come, but he hardly felt the fire around him. Then he felt something bump into his hands and he felt a weight pressing down on them as something clambered into his hands, gripping firmly.

“There you are,” Mr. Scamander spoke softly, close to his ear. “Now, carefully, slowly, pull it out of the fire.” As Credence did, his heart raced with excitement. The baby dragon emerged, squeaking and staring at him. It was smaller than the other two, but just as black and scaly and beautiful. It clambered over his hands, trying to reach his face. It opened its mouth and hissed at him.

“Oh dear,” Mr. Scamander said. “Credence, you had better…” Before he could finish the sentence the baby dragon hissed again and reached up on its hind legs, digging its front claws into Credence’s shoulders. It cocked its head and stared him straight in the eyes, hissing again. Credence dared not move.

“Ye didn’t get rid of the Obscurus, did ye?” the woman asked calmly. Credence eyes darted to her, feeling the panic rising in him. She _knew_.

“I’ve been working on a way…” Mr. Scamander said, trailing off. He had indeed been, but nothing had worked so far. “It’s parasitic, and it really does put up a rather good fight…” he mumbled and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Inside Credence, the storm was brewing and he could feel it rising.

“Credence,” the woman said calmly. “Breathe. Just breathe with me. In, and out.” She instructed him with a calm and steady voice but it had the opposite effect on him. Lord have mercy, she reminded him so much of…

He tried so hard every moment of his waking hours not to think about that man. He really shouldn’t. Nothing good would come of it, Credence knew that. But his dark eyes and bushy eyebrows and greying temples kept making Credence heart race. He’d been so sure he’d seen… And the woman reminded him so much of that man. Credence felt a silly tear trickle down his cheek. The baby dragon reached out and flicked its tongue at it, wiping it away. Credence opened his eyes in surprise. The dragon looked at him and sniffed at his face, blowing small puffs of air and smoke onto his cheeks. The dragon squeaked then and rubbed its snout against his nose. It squeaked again before settling into his lap, curling up and falling asleep.

“There you are, m’boy,” the woman said kindly and Credence looked at her then, unsure of himself. She really did look like him, like... Though her hair was auburn and her bushy eyebrows not nearly as thick as his, though her lips were fuller and her nose not quite as pointy, though her eyes were a piercing green and not a deep brown, she did look like him and it made Credence heart skip a beat. The dragon in his lap was sleeping calmly and Credence stroked it absentmindedly. The woman had turned to the baby dragons in her lap. Credence had to know.

“Mr. Scamander,” he said quietly and the magizoologist knelt beside him. “In that room, I thought I saw a picture of… Well. Someone I knew once. But that’s… That’s just a trick of the light, isn’t it?” Credence asked and wouldn’t meet Mr. Scamander’s eyes.

“Bleeding skies!” the woman muttered under her breath. “You didn’t tell him, did you, Scamander?” she said and scowled at the magizoologist.

“Well, I was in a hurry, wasn’t I?” the redheaded man said and shrugged in a slightly defensive manner. “Your message said it was urgent,” he said and looked at her with his head a little tilted to the side and defiantly meeting her gaze.

“Heavens this will be a long night, won’t it?” the woman muttered to herself. “Well. Get going. Sitting room, lads. Put the kettle on will ye?”

“Come along, Credence,” Mr. Scamander said quietly and helped him get to his feet. The woman mumbled something Credence couldn’t quite make out and the fire died down. The floor of the cave broke apart and reshaped itself in places and formed a ring of stones around the glowing embers. A shelf of rock jutted out over the embers and Credence realized it was a nest for the baby dragons. He gently put the one in his arms in the nook of the shelf and Mr. Scamander took one of the dragons the woman was holding and placed it too in the nest. The woman put the last of the dragons in the nest and straightened up.

“Right, off ye go,” she said and Credence couldn’t quite make out what the tone in her voice meant. “Kettle, Scamander. Be right there,” she said and busied herself with the stones and embers.

“Come along, Credence,” Mr. Scamander said again and ushered him to a door he hadn’t seen until then. They walked up a winding stone staircase and before long; Credence found himself standing in a splendid sitting room, a fire crackling cozily in the fireplace. He looked about him, confused. It looked rather a lot like the sitting room they had been in when they first met the woman, except this room was well kept and tidy, cozy and warm. The windows were whole and the bookshelves stacked with hundreds of books, all looking to be in rather good shape.

“But…” Credence mumbled to himself. “Mr. Scamander, this…”

“... Is what it looked like when we got here, yes. But I’d wager it looked rather derelict and uninhibited to you, didn’t it?” Mr. Scamander said with that barely noticeable crooked half-smile of his as Credence nodded. “Yeah, that’s Gertie’s way of keeping strangers away.”

“Gertie?” Credence asked, confused.

“Ah, yes, that’s right. She didn’t introduce herself. I’m sure she will. But, Credence, there is… Well, perhaps I ought to have told you before we came here…” Mr. Scamander trailed off. “You’d better see for yourself. Come and take a look at these,” Mr. Scamander said and pointed to a table with several picture frames Credence could only see the back of. As Credence came closer and saw photographs themselves, his stomach tied itself into a knot. About half the pictures showed the woman Credence realized was Gertie, along with another, astoundingly beautiful woman. They were dancing and laughing, the little figures moving and laughing and dancing forever captured in the magical photograph. In one of them, the women seemed to be having a fight with ice cream, their faces were completely covered in ice cream and they were laughing like they had never seen anything funnier in their lives. Some of the pictures showed Gertie taking care of different animals, mostly dragons but also creatures Credence had never seen, not even in Mr. Scamander’s case or books or drawings. One of the pictures showed her in a soldier’s uniform. Others showed people Credence didn’t know, but suspected were family or friends of the woman.

The largest frame contained a portrait of the woman he had seen in the other pictures with Gertie. The woman in the picture hardly moved. She blinked and smiled but else did very little. She was so beautiful, Credence thought; she looked like a movie star. Across one of the corners of the frame was a black velvet ribbon and Credence realized with a pang of sadness that the woman must have died.

“Alice,” Mr. Scamander offered as if reading Credence thoughts. “She and Gertie were… Close.”

Sadness twisted in Credence. Though there was hardly any family resemblance between the two women, there was something in the familiarity between them that convinced him they were sisters. Credence felt his jaw muscles tense. He too, had lost a sister and though there hadn't been any blood ties or family resemblance between them either, she had still been his sister. Credence looked at the beautiful woman again and she smiled kindly at him. He couldn't help but smile back.

Mr. Scamander cleared his throat and Credence forced himself to look at the three pictures that made his stomach tie itself into an even harder knot, made his lungs stop breathing and his heart skip a beat. The man he thought he would never see again looked back at him. In one of the pictures he was roaring with laughter, looking a few years younger than Credence, and playing with a happy child Credence realized must be Gertie, another showed a grim-faced, much older version of him, closer to the man Credence had thought he knew. The man in that picture barely moved, but when Credence turned away from it he could have sworn, that out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man smile and wink at him. The third showed the man sitting in the light of a window; his eyes closed and leaning his head against the wall behind him and Credence realized that the picture had been taken here, in this very room. He looked to the window opposite him and his heart seemed to skip a beat again. He had been here. Not long ago, Credence realized.

“February 1927,” he whispered to himself as he read the date written in neat hand at the bottom of the picture. The man opened his eyes and smiled shyly at Credence. The man was as impossibly handsome as before but there was a darkness to his eyes now that hadn’t been there the first time Credence had met him. “He was here,” Credence he repeated softly.

“Yes,” Mr. Scamander said and looked at him from under his unruly fringe of ginger hair.

“MACUSA suspended him,” the woman’s voice was heard then and Credence startled. She was standing in the doorway, stepping out of the brown overalls. “Well,” she scoffed. “They _asked_ him _politely_ to take some time off, while they tried to sort out how their own security could be breached like that. Incompetent arses, the lot of them,” she muttered and threw the overalls in the air, making them zoom to another room. She wiped her hands across her face and the soot and dirt disappeared and Credence realized she must have used a spell for water, her hands were dripping now and she wiped them off on her pants and green, knitted sweater. “Have ye figured it out yet?” she asked and looked at Credence with a smile.

“Figured it out?” Credence echoed.

“He’s me uncle,” she said and grinned before disappearing into another room. “What happened to the kettle, Scamander?” she called, but before he could answer she had returned and a kettle levitated to the fireplace, filling itself with water from thin air as it went. Large cups and tea leaves came zooming by Credence, putting themselves neatly on the table, the tea leaves swirling in the air before falling down into the cups. She pulled a hand through the auburn mess that was her hair and threw herself into one of the armchairs. “Sit down, by all means, Barebone!” she smiled and waved at the other armchair. Credence glanced to Mr. Scamander who nodded as if to tell him it was all right.

“But there’s only one more armchair,” Credence protested quietly.

“Merlin’s beard, ye’re right,” the woman laughed and pulled out her wand from an impossibly small pocket in her trousers. She waved it lazily around and one of the cushions from the window leapt into the air, twisting and turning and reshaping itself into a third armchair. Though he had slowly begun to get used to the everyday sort of magic of Mr. Scamander and the occasional spectacular spells, Credence looked at the armchair in amazement.

“Ye know, ye’re allowed to take yer coats off,” the woman remarked with one bushy eyebrow raised.

“We shan’t be staying long,” Mr. Scamander tried with a quick glance to his suitcase.

“Poppycock!” the woman barked merrily. “Stay fer the night, at least! Surely, ye can’t miss their first meal, Scamander,” she added with something in her eyes Credence couldn’t quite place. She reminded him of a cat somehow. He glanced at Mr. Scamander and he could see the curiosity awaken in the magizoologist.

“All right,” Mr. Scamander said, looking up from under his fringe of unruly hair and taking a small sip from the cup that had gently been nudging his hand. Credence hadn’t even noticed when the tea poured itself. “One night,” Mr. Scamander agreed, his upper lip bending into that small half-smile of his.

Credence felt a jumble of emotions fighting inside of him. On the one hand he really did look forward to helping out with the dragons, but on the other, the woman reminded him painfully of the man he knew he must forget. And though she seemed all right enough, there was just something about her piercing green eyes that unsettled Credence and he didn’t know what to make of her. He couldn’t grasp her properly and that scared him a little. Reading people’s emotions and anticipating their reactions and states of mind had been his key to survival for so long.

“Ye had better take that cup before it spills the tea all over you,” the woman laughed then and Credence realized his cup, too, had been nudging at him for quite some time. It seemed to get wilder and wilder the longer he ignored it so he picked it out of the air quickly and took a large sip. It tasted sweet and rich of spices and somehow it made Credence feel a bit more at ease. He put down his cup to shrug out of his coat and scarf but when he had folded them in his lap he felt a bit at a loss for what else to do.

“Throw them in the air,” the woman said with a mischievous twinkle in her green eyes.

“I’m sorry?” Credence asked confused.

“Throw them in the air, Credence,” Mr. Scamander said and flung his peacock blue coat towards the ceiling. The coat immediately zoomed away and out of the sitting room as if someone had used a Summoning charm on it.

“Go on,” the woman said. “It’ll go straight for the coat hanger in the hallway. I should know, I made the spell up myself,” she added and looked as content as a purring cat. Credence hesitantly thrust his hands out and threw his coat and scarf into the air. For a split second he actually worried it wouldn’t work, or that Gertie and Mr. Scamander were only playing a cruel joke on him and that the coats hadn’t at all gone on their own accord, but by the flick of their wands without Credence noticing. But before the coat had barely left his hands, it zoomed away, followed by the scarf, twirling in the air.

“Now, I believe I haven’t properly introduced meself,” the woman said then. “Gertie Halloran, pleased to make yer acquaintance, Credence Barebone,” she smiled, baring all of her white teeth. As she got up to shake his hand, she pushed the sleeves of her green sweater up and Credence could tell the markings and letters and images continued all over her arms. He tried very hard not to stare.

“Mr. Scamander said we were going to Scotland,” Credence said as he shook Gertie’s hand. “But… Miss Gertie, you’re Irish, right?” he said, finally having realized where her soft rolling dialect came from.

“Well, I’m half and half, really,” Gertie laughed and settled back into her armchair, throwing her legs over one of the armrests. “And don’t call me ‘miss’. Gertie will do just fine.” When he tried to apologize, she just waved a hand to dismiss his stuttering. Credence felt his ears go pink.

“Me ma was an American witch and me da was an Irish muggle,” she continued. “I was born and raised in Ireland, yes. Thanks to Uncle Perce.”

“How come?” Credence asked, having a strong feeling of being the only one in the room that didn’t quite understand how it all connected. Mr. Scamander was looking at Gertie with his head tilted and not really meeting her eyes, occasionally glancing about the room or to his case.

“America has rather conservative laws,” Gertie began with a kind smile.

“Backwards,” Mr. Scamander added and Credence could hear a tone of irritation to the man’s voice he wasn’t used to hearing.

“Well. Yeah. America has very backwards laws regarding muggles and wizardkind, ye see. They’re not allowed to associate,” she added after seeing the confusion on Credence’s face. “That means, for example, that muggleborn witches and wizards are whisked off to Ilvermorny, never to see or talk to their family again. It also means that if a witch and a muggle were to fall in love, they wouldn’t be allowed to marry.”

“That’s horrible,” Credence said and when he stole a glance at Gertie, he felt like she looked right through his condemned soul.

“Yes. It is. Not all places are like that though. Here in Europe, well, for most places, we do things differently. Marriage is allowed, muggleborn children who attend Hogwarts still get to go home and see their family in the holidays. So. When me mother fell in love with an Irish muggle she met in New York, her rebellious little brother defied their father and helped his sister and her lover elope to Ireland where old Grandfather Graves had no jurisdiction or power. She was already with child when they married and I imagine quite a few charms were cast on the poor priest to make him wed them anyway,” she chuckled. “It was quite the scandal for both muggles and wizardkind involved.” Her eyes glittered mischievously again. 

“That picture there,” she said and waved her hand at the one with the younger man roaring with laughter. “Is the first time I ever met me uncle Perce. See, old Grandad Graves forbade him to come, and he made sure he couldn’t, no Portkeys would be assigned in the name of Graves, the Floo-network wouldn’t connect to me mother’s house. Old Grandad Graves even made sure the entire non-magical american society thought uncle Perce was a dangerous criminal, effectively cutting him off from any sort of muggle transportation. The year uncle Perce turned nineteen, he figured out how to Apparate cross-continental, something only a few have managed before him. So one day, there he was. Splinched half his leg in the process, but there he was.”

Credence couldn’t help the small smile on his lips and the warmth spreading in his chest. Without even noticing it, he straightened up a little bit more. Ever since Mr. Scamander had found him broken and hurting in an alley, he had slowly, bit by bit, begun to walk with his head a little higher, his shoulders a little less hunched.

“Do the muggles still think he’s a dangerous criminal?” he asked, the smile widening at the very thought.

“Merlin, no!” Gertie laughed. “He returned to America with a copy of that picture and supposedly, he Apparated straight into his father’s office, throwing the picture on the desk, saying something very heroic along the lines of his father not being able to stop him anyway now that he knew how to Apparate cross-continental and there was a picture of his granddaughter now. The muggle police issued an official apology for the erroneous charges against him. Somehow, a few weeks after that, any muggle in New York who mentioned the name of Percival Graves would find themselves walking out of alleys and then not remembering why they went in there in the first place.”

“Mr. Graves did that?” Credence asked incredulously.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not quite sure,” Gertie smiled but her eyes glittered mischievously. “Between you and me, I think he’s exaggerating a little for the sake of the story. He always had a flare for the dramatic. I mean, just look at him! Have ye seen the coat he’s taken to wearing lately?” she chuckled. Credence couldn’t help his own smile widening and when he stole a glance at Mr. Scamander beside him, he thought he saw even Mr. Scamander giving his half-smile. Gertie cocked her head and studied Credence curiously with those piercing, green eyes.

“He really did charm you, didn’t he?” she said, seemingly more to herself than to him.

“Wh-what?” Credence stuttered and felt his cheeks redden and his shoulders cower protectively. Mr. Scamander seemed to have tensed. Credence felt the storm threatening to stir again. _How could she possibly know?_

“Oh don’t worry, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. He is an old grumpy bastard but he is still dashingly handsome.”

Credence stole a glance at Gertie and although she was smiling kindly and without the resentment he had expected, he still felt naked, utterly exposed. 

“It’s not a difficult one to figure out, lad,” she said kindly. “Though, admittedly the papers have been unusually quiet about that aspect of the story,” she added, taking a sip of tea from her cup. 

“Gertie, don’t,” Mr. Scamander said softly but the woman seemed to pay him no heed.

Credence felt the first tell-tale trembles in his body. _No, please. No. Not now._ He clamped his eyes shut and tried to breathe in through his nose, out through his mouth. _In. Out._

“I’ve actually met Grindelwald. I know what he’s like. I know what he’s capable of,” she said with an air of indifference, but underneath all that, Credence sensed something different. “Me uncle may be a grumpy bastard,” she continued like she was talking about the weather, oblivious to the chord of pain she struck within him with her words, “but Grindelwald, he’s heartless. Cruel. He uses people until they no longer serve his purpose and then he disposes of them, discards them like a spoiled child tired of his toys.” 

“And, sweet-talking though that slimebag of a man may be,” she continued and shot Mr. Scamander a look when the redheaded man slowly shook his head at her. “I have a hard time believing he turned up in New York and in less than a day, convinced ye that magic is indeed real and that witches and wizards are not of the Devil and promised ye that ye too could be a part of the magical society if only ye helped him look for a child. See, that doesn’t make any sense,” she carried on, turning her gaze to Credence. “No, dear, ye knew me uncle before that impostor strutted about New York, wearing me uncle’s face and fancy clothes.”

Credence felt his chest tighten, making it hard to breathe. _How could she know? And how, for the love of God, how could she be so casual about it all?_

Mr. Scamander cleared his throat and coughed.

“What?” she snapped, turning to look at him.

“It’s getting rather late and we’ve traveled quite some way,” he said and Credence had the distinct feeling that wasn't at all what he was actually talking about. Then again, the storm had begun to ring in his ears so he couldn’t tell, really.

“Fine!” Gertie sighed. “I’ll show ye to the guest rooms,” she added and started to leave the sitting room. She stopped in the doorway to look at him. “I don’t have all night ye know,” she said and inclined her head to the stairs in the hallway. “Come along, Barebone!”

The sheer obliviousness of the woman brought Credence back to himself so fast his head was spinning. Had she really no idea how close she had been to having an Obscurus unravel in her sitting room? Credence glanced at Mr. Scamander beside him, but he didn’t seem to have noticed either. Credence had to run a few steps before he caught up with Gertie and followed her to the second floor and the guest rooms that were already made up for them.


	2. Sleepless wanderings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence accidentally eavesdrops a little and gets angry, but you know, just a smidge.
> 
> (Slight slight touch of internalised homophobia up a head.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, here we go!

Credence couldn't sleep. He was staring at the intricately carved ceiling of the four-poster bed he was lying in. The mattress under him was soft and plush and it felt a bit like he imagined it would feel to sleep on a cloud. He was so tired, exhausted even, but he couldn't sleep. He had been trying for a little more than an hour. But sleep evaded him. 

Mr. Scamander had tended to the beasts in the case alone that night and Gertie had showed Credence where the guest rooms were and had told him to pick the one of the five beautiful rooms he liked the best. She had shown him where the bathroom was and then she had bid him a good night and gone to check on the dragons.

Credence sighed. His mind wouldn't leave him alone and he decided to go and just wander around the castle. Walking always helped even if he was coursing aimlessly and without intentions of going anywhere in particular. Before long though, he found himself standing outside the kitchen, the door ajar. He could see Gertie sitting, cross-legged on top of the big table, scribbling something in a notebook and then turning to a large tome next to her, turning the pages with an annoyed look on her face, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Merlin’s checkered drawers,” she muttered to herself and closed the big old book. She rubbed her tattooed hands over her face and combed them through her unruly auburn hair. On the floor beside her, Mr. Scamander's head suddenly popped out of his open case and Credence drew back into the shadows by the door. 

“You shouldn’t push him like that,” Mr. Scamander said and frowned at her.

“I didn’t push him,” she answered with another sigh. “That was nothing. I didn’t really push him. Ye’ll know when I push him,” she added and grinned at him.

“Don’t.” Credence couldn’t see the look on Mr. Scamander’s face because he had turned away from the door to look out into the night through one of the windows behind him, but something in the way Mr. Scamander had looked at Gertie before he turned away, must have convinced her not to press the matter.

“How many actual outbursts since MACUSA?” Gertie asked, changing direction of the conversation.

“Three,” Mr. Scamander said and shut the clasps on his case.

“What caused them?” Gertie leaned her head in her hands, Credence realised, to better listen by blocking out the world around her, narrowing it down to Mr. Scamander’s voice.

“When I found him, he was in very bad shape. It took him a while to stabilize. The first was because I asked him to stay in the case without me while we boarded the ship back to England. It scared him and the Obscurus manifested so quickly I barely had time to Apparate us away from populated areas,” Mr. Scamander said and turned around, looking at Gertie again.

“The second time, he caught sight of the paper I was reading. It had your uncle’s face plastered all over the front-page. I managed to Apparate us to a safe space then. I’ve made this extra compartment in the case, you see,” he continued, making the small nods after some of the words as he spoke. “It’s just wide plains and I’ve reinforced the walls to contain the Obscurus. It takes longer to calm him down when there is nothing to break, I’ve noticed. But it will do, for now.” Gertie hummed again scribbled away in her notebook.

“The last was when I told him that Grindelwald had escaped,” Mr. Scamander said, nodding again. “I thought he deserved to know,” he added with a final nod. Gertie hummed and scribbled something in the notebook again.

“What calmed him down?”

“I’m not quite sure. Dougal is very good at calming him when he’s close to unraveling but haven’t quite. We’ve had a few of those moments as well. But not as frequently anymore.” Gertie only hummed in response.

“What do we know of the Obscurus then?” She yawned and stretched and pulled off the green sweater. She unbuttoned the first few buttons of the white shirt she’d worn underneath, and rolled up the sleeves. Even from where Credence was standing, he could see the tattoos reaching almost all the way up to her neck.

“It’s parasitical,” Mr. Scamander began.

“Yes, I know that much, ye’ve told me. What else?” Gertie interrupted with an impatient wave of her hand.

“It’s created out of distress and severe maltreatment. Not just neglect. But actual punishment targeted at the child in question because of their magical abilities.” It was strange hearing Mr. Scamander talk about it as if it were just one of his beasts, and yet, Credence didn’t mind.

“But you got one out before, right? A girl in Sudan? ” Gertie was tapping her index-finger against the tip of her nose and Credence felt his heart skip a beat again when he realized Mr. Graves, the real one, also used to do that.

“Yes but circumstances were substantially different. She was already dying when I found her.” There was pain in Mr. Scamander voice when he spoke and he leaned against the counter behind him.

“So the only reason ye managed to separate the Obscurus from that girl was because it knew she was already dying?” Gertie asked and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, that’s the conclusion I’ve come to,” Mr. Scamander said through gritted teeth.

"So what is it ye’re saying? We have to make the Obscurus think Barebone’s dying?" she said and and opened her eyes to look at him. Mr. Scamander didn’t answer right away. He looked away and then back to her a few times.

“Yes,” he said finally.

"Parasitical indeed,” Gertie said and sighed again. “Well how do we do that without killing him in the process?" Credence felt like his stomach had just disappeared. He hadn’t even thought about that being a possibility.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Scamander admitted and the silence between them stretched for an unbearably long time. Credence felt despair wash over him like a tidal wave, threatening to crush him.

“Are you saying you can’t get it out of me?” Credence said then and pushed the kitchen door open. He couldn’t stop himself. “Is that what you’re saying? That you can’t get it out?” He looked from Mr. Scamander to Gertie and back to Mr. Scamander. “You promised, Mr. Scamander, you promised,” he pleaded.

“Yes, I know I did, Credence. I’m sorry,” he said and met Credence’s eyes.

“Barebone, if we try to force it out of ye, we’ll kill ye. It’s as simple as that,” Gertie said and looked at him with sadness in her eyes.

“You don’t know that!” Credence shouted at her. Anger was flaring in him sure enough, but somehow the storm hadn’t yet begun.

“Not beyond all doubt, no,” Gertie admitted. “But the scientific evidence points to it, and ye know what? It’s too big a risk, Barebone. It’s a risk none of us wants to take, don’t ye see that?” For some inexplicable reason she chuckled to herself.

“What!” Credence snarled at her. Credence felt like something inside of him had finally broken, something he’d been trying to keep safe for as long as he could remember.

“If Percival had been here right now, he would have been shouting at us for a good hour for even considering doing something that might hurt you.”

“Well he’s not here, is he?” Credence shouted. He wasn’t sure where all this anger was coming from, nor where he found the courage to speak up, but somehow he did and it was as if the rage in him had just been waiting to be let out. And yet, the storm had still not begun. The anger that burned in him like a fire was different. “And he doesn’t get a say in the matter!” he continued. “I want this thing out of me! Get it out!”

“Credence,” Mr. Scamander said in a soothing manner but it had the opposite effect on him.

“You lied!” Credence shouted and before he knew it he had stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind him. With an angry roar, he grabbed the first thing he could find and threw it with all his force to the floor. The vase shattered into a million pieces. Anything in his path he crushed or smashed, but with his own hands this time and not the uncontrollable thing inside of him. After a while, he leaned his head against the nearest wall. He was panting hard and he felt his hands stinging. When he looked down at them, he realized he was bleeding. He looked back at the destruction in his wake and he felt ashamed of himself. He slid down the wall and felt tears welling up in his eyes.

“Ye should try the china in the dining room,” Gertie said as she caught up with him. Broken glass and china crunched under her boots. “I smashed that for hours and hours when Alice died,” she added and sat down next to him amidst all the wood splinters, glass and china.

“I’m sorry,” Credence whispered and leaned his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Don’t be. It’s just things, Barebone. Besides,” she added and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “When I lost Alice, uncle Perce put a self-repairing spell on pretty much everything in the house. I would throw stuff literally for days on end, but every morning when I woke up, it was all mended again. Pretty frustrating at first, because it feels cruel that something as simple as a vase can be mended with a spell but your loss and your pain can’t. But in the end, there’s also something reassuring about that.”

“I’m sorry you lost your sister,” Credence said, and wiped away the tears on his cheeks. 

“Oh, Credence,” Gertie laughed. “Alice wasn’t me sister.”

Credence opened his eyes and looked up at her but didn't move.

“Oh,” he said as it dawned upon what she meant. “Oh!”

“Ye know,” she said and laughed without humour. “Cruel tongues would say it runs in the family. But I take it you already knew that,” she said and her kind smile returned. 

His mind was reeling. Credence sat up and looked at her. Surely, she couldn't mean… It was impossible. It couldn't be. And yet… Somewhere, deep within him, a new sense of hope flickered to life. It was silly, he knew that. But still… 

“Ye didn't know?” she asked surprised, her eyebrows furrowed. “Ye honestly didn't know?”

“I never…” Credence tried to explain but he was interrupted by Gertie's roaring laughter. 

“Ah, Merlin’s beard!” she laughed. 

“I didn’t know it was so common in the wizarding world,” he mused after a moment’s silence.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it common, not because it doesn’t exist, because it does. And honestly, I think it’s a lot more common than one thinks. But because. Well. Wizarding and muggle society alike both have pretty… Backwards laws and views on the matter. So. Most people aren’t so… Overt. About it. As me and Alice were.”

“So not even wizards allow it?” Credence ask and felt a pang of sorrow inside of him. A part of him had been hoping that since his…. That woman, Credence corrected himself quickly. He had been about to call her ‘mother’ out of old habit. But since that woman had been wrong about so many things, Credence had hoped that maybe she had been wrong about… Well. People like Gertie and Mr. Graves. People like…

“They do,” Gertie interrupted his thoughts. “Allow it,” she added at his confused look. “They just have an obscene amount of bureaucracy around it. And though it hasn’t ever really been illegal in the wizarding world, well. Let’s just say, not everybody has warmed to the idea of it.”

A thought struck him and Credence closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the world and the horrible realisation. If it was so blatantly obvious that Mr. Graves… Was it also equally obvious that he…? 

“He knows about… About me as well. Doesn't he?”

“Well, yes. Of course he does,” Gertie said like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter that his soul was condemned for it.

“I guess he must have had a good laugh, too,” Credence mumbled and felt his cheeks go red at the thought of Mr. Graves laughing at him like that.

“No, Creedence. Look, I'm sorry,” Gertie said with a sort of tiredness to her voice. “But ye have to understand, I've always known about Perce. All right? He trims his eyebrows for crying out loud,” she added with a small laugh. “No man has eyebrows like that. And he's so vain, ye wouldn't believe. But ye know, I was there when he brought home his first sweetheart. And I was there when he had his heart broken by Theseus Scamander. I've always known.”

“Scamander?” Credence said and looked at her in surprise, his thoughts momentarily distracted.

“Yes. Newt’s older brother. I told ye it was more common than ye’d think. He’s such a heartbreaker that one, I tell ye. Shattered ol’ Percival’s into a million little pieces. Though, he doesn’t ever mean to, Thes. He’s just very good at breaking hearts ye see,” she said, staring at the wall in front of her, a small smile playing in the corners of her mouth again.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Credence asked and only his years of learning how to conceal his feelings, allowed him now to hide the hurt and betrayal he felt simmering inside.

“That ye’re not the only one in the world?” she said and huffed a small laugh. “Well, my two pennies’ worth is that he didn’t want ter scare ye off.”

“He wouldn’t have…”

“I know. But how could he have known that? Grumpy old bastard though he may be, he’s also human, Barebone. No one likes rejection. Now,” she added and got up from the floor, brushing away china and glass and wood. “I have to tend to the dragons one last time before bed. I’m sure Scamander has some essence of dittany for yer hands. Off ye go!” she added and gave him a final look before she Disapparated with a small ‘pop’, leaving Credence amidst all the debris and the jumble of thoughts reeling inside his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the eyebrow-comment is my small homage to Colin Farrell and his dedication to roles. If one looks closely (actually, it's blatantly obvious) one will find his eyebrows in FBAWTFT being on fleek, not nearly as bushy as they usually are. It could be the make-up department, but it could just as easily be Mr. Farrell's idea to do that, he does that sometimes with roles - goes to the make-up department with a clear idea of what the character looks like- I've gathered from interviews and I just think it deserves recognition, always but definitely now. They really are on fleek.
> 
>  
> 
> Not sure when chapter 3 will be up, please stay tuned.
> 
> Loads of love


	3. Unexpected meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, the gang finds out more about the Obscurus and how it might work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So fair warning, Credence might not have the best of days, but it all works out for the better in the end of the chapter (sort of). Please bare with. I like him too much to do anything too bad to him, so don't worry!

Credence woke with a start, his breathing rapid and shallow as if he’d been running. He rubbed his chest absentmindedly. He never remembered his dreams anymore, but he knew they were bad and he always woke with a sense of lingering panic. Sunlight was already streaming in through the tall windows but he slumped back against the pillows, trying to calm his racing heart. Then he sat up with a jerk. Gertie had said he could help with the dragons. What if he had missed their mealtime? He hurried out of bed, untangling himself from the sheets and changed into his clothes as fast as he could.

“Gertie!” he called as soon as he was out in the hallway. “Gertie! I’m sorry! I think I overslept!” No one answered him.

He hurried down the stairs to the kitchen. When he reached the hallway where he had been wreaking havoc the night before, he had to stop and stare in awe at it for a beat. It was indeed restored to the way it had been before Credence went through it. Everything was mended and whole again and even the picture frames hung straight on the walls. Self-repairing spell indeed, he thought to himself and smiled as he skidded into the kitchen. It was empty as well. Where were Gertie and Mr. Scamander? He looked about the kitchen and felt a little stupid. If only he knew how to Apparate, then he could have gone down to the dragons in a heartbeat. But he didn’t know how to Apparate, and he wasn’t sure he would find his way back down the concealed stairway. He was just about to turn back to his room when he noticed a note on the big table.

_Barebone! Feeding the dragons. Come on down. Tickle the dog and tell it how pretty it looks!_

Credence looked confusedly about the kitchen. There was no dog to be seen. But then he remembered, there had been a small figurine in the hallway, a dog of some kind, come to think of it. He was sure he had smashed it to pieces yesterday but he knew it had to have mended itself again. He hurried out into the hallway and sure enough, there it was, on a table with intricately decorated, curved legs. The porcelain dog looked mean and rather ugly, like it had run headfirst into a wall. He recognized the breed, he had seen rich ladies walking around New York with those ugly little dogs in a leash, but he didn’t know what it was called. The porcelain dog was sitting on its hind legs, its head tilted and looking straight at him. Credence reached out and tickled the smooth stomach with his index finger. The figurine seemed to come to life, it shook its head and leaned into his tickling with a small grunt.

“Look how pretty you are,” Credence said without meaning it. Nothing happened. He tickled the dog some more. The real life counterparts in New York sure had indeed been ugly, but the longer he looked at the little porcelain figurine, there was something rather adorable about it, Credence found himself thinking. “Pretty little thing, look at you!” he cooed and this time the dog answered with a tiny, hollow bark. Then it froze into the same position as before and Credence felt strangely abandoned and just as much at a loss at what to do as before, when suddenly, with a creak, part of the wall behind the table, swung inwards to reveal the staircase from yesterday.

To his disappointment, Credence found the cave to be empty as well, even the dragons were gone. The embers were still glowing and cast deep shadows all throughout the cave.

“Hello?” he said hesitantly. “Gertie?” He heard movement from the depths of the cave. “Hello?”

A man walked out of the shadows and into the glowing light from the embers. Credence felt like his heart skipped several beats and the air was sucked from his lungs, his entire body tingled in a million impossible ways. The man’s long black coat billowed slowly like it had been stirred by a light summer breeze.

“Mr. Graves?” he asked, hardly believing his eyes.

“Oh. It’s you,” Graves said, disappointment clear on his face. “I don’t have time for you. Have you seen my niece?” His dark eyes gleamed in the dim light.

“I uh…” Credence stuttered, at a loss for words. 

“I asked you a question, boy,” Mr. Graves sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I suppose that’s too difficult for you, hm?” Mr. Graves made to walk past him but stopped and looked at him with contempt. “I don’t know why I ever bothered with you,” he sighed and Credence felt the first tell-tale trembles of the brewing storm.

“Mr. Graves…” he tried but quickly fell silent by the look of disdain on the gorgeous man’s face.

“Grindelwald was right,” Mr. Graves spat. “You’re a Squib. You’re unteachable. You’re useless.”

Credence felt himself dissolving at the edges. His head was spinning and his ears were ringing with the storm roaring inside of him.

“Please don’t, Mr. Graves,” Credence pleaded, his voice hoarse and cracked, the storm seeping into it.

“Why are you even here? No one wants you here, Barebone,” Mr. Graves said and glared at him. “Tina and Queenie didn’t want you staying with them. Neither does Newt. You’re dangerous. A liability. Scamander only took you in so that no one would have to see you anymore,” Mr. Graves hissed and took a step closer.

“Please,” Credence sobbed, tears running down his cheeks now.

“You disgust me,” spat Mr. Graves. Credence felt his grip on himself slipping faster and the dark tendrils of the storm had begun blurring the edge of his vision, so he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Get out of my way, _freak!_ ”

Pain shot through Credence at Mr. Graves’ words and he felt the storm roaring, screaming inside of him.

 _No_ , the storm hissed within him. _He shouldn’t speak like that_ , the storm whispered. _He’ll pay for it_ , the storm promised. And Credence, shaking violently now, slowly nodded his head. He would set the storm free one more time.

“Over here, ye bastard!” he heard Gertie’s voice then and he snapped his eyes open. “ _Riddikulus!_ ” Gertie waved her wand. Mr. Graves lay lifeless on the ground, blood trickling down his chin from his open mouth, his dark eyes staring emptily and unseeing. 

_No._

The baby dragons lay motionless, scattered in the cave like someone had thrown them lazily aside. He could tell they were dead too. 

He sank to his knees besides Mr. Graves. Credence felt like his heart would shatter into a million unmendable pieces. The storm inside of him seemed to have died down with Mr. Graves and the edges of his beings had returned to the boundaries of his body.

Gertie smirked to herself and waved her wand again, making Mr. Graves’ body disappear in a puff of smoke and what sounded suspiciously much like flatulence.

“What…?” Credence whispered. “Where did he go? Where’s Mr. Graves?”

“In New York, I’d assume,” Gertie said and went over to check on the dragons who were now squealing and flapping their wings in the stone nest Gertie had made for them above the embers.

“But…” Credence stammered. “But…”

“It wasn’t him. That, Barebone,” she said and nodded to a box he hadn’t noticed. The box was rattling and shaking violently. “is a boggart. No one really knows what a boggart looks like. They always assume the shape of what we fear most. I have a theory they feed off our fear, ye see,” Gertie wouldn’t meet his eyes as she tended to the dragons. “Bring me that bucket of meat,” she said and gently patted one of the dragons, letting it crawl into her embrace.

“There now,” she whispered against its scaly head and rubbed her nose against its snout. Credence was still shaking as he fetched the bucket.

“Gertie,” Mr. Scamander’s voice said then and Credence saw him standing on the stairs. “Is that a boggart?” His tone was very much like when he spoke to his niffler.

“Yep,” she answered without looking at him. She tossed chunks of meat into the air and the baby dragons each flapped their wings and rose ever so slightly from the rock, catching the meat mid-air.

“Curious that a boggart found its way in here,” Mr. Scamander said, his eyebrows raised at Gertie.

“Yep,” she answered again and tossed another handful of meat into the air.

“Lucky you caught it in the box, I suppose,” he added and Credence saw a shadow of something he couldn’t quite place, pass over Mr. Scamander’s face.

“Are you alright, Credence?” he asked and turned to look at him.

“Yeah,” Credence said and tried to look the part. “I’m fine. Really, Mr. Scamander,” he insisted. 

“Barebone, come over here!” Gertie called to him and held out the half-empty bucket. “Ye wanna give it a shot?” She flashed him a wide grin. “Go on, just grab a fistfull and toss it in the air. Go on!”

Credence dug his hand into the bucket and couldn’t help but shudder at the feeling of all the raw, sloppy meat. He grabbed a handful and looked at Gertie who nodded eagerly. He threw the meat into the air and the baby dragons squeaked and squealed, flapping their wings to catch the chunks.

“One more,” Gertie said and her grin grew wider. “Toss it higher this time. Let’s give them a chance to stretch their wings a bit. Go on! Higher, as high as you can!” She smiled and Credence obeyed. He tossed it almost straight up, and it flew in a high arch. He couldn’t help the smile spreading wide on his face when all three little dragons flapped their wings and rose high into the air, catching the meat as it came down. The dragon Credence had held the night before caught her chunk of meat but instead of turning back to the nest, she spread her wings and flew around the cave a few laps. The laughter bubbled in Credence as the dragon soared higher and higher, circling him just out of reach. He looked at Gertie and she had a giddy grin all over her face. He cast his eyes at Mr. Scamander and noticed the man scowling at Gertie. Credence couldn’t understand why.

When they had finished with the dragons, they proceeded to feed Mr. Scamander’s beasts as well. Gertie seemed to be used to the inside of Mr. Scamander’s case. She moved with a certainty Credence still didn’t feel. She knew how to deal with every beast in there and he swore he even saw her give the niffler something shiny when Mr. Scamander wasn’t looking. She sat among the mooncalves when Credence noticed Mr. Scamander scowling at her again. Credence had never seen him like that. Mr. Scamander was fuming, Credence realized, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

Gertie stalked off to the winter enclosure that Credence never entered. Not because he wasn’t allowed to, he could go anywhere he wanted inside the case. Mr. Scamander had showed him what was in the winter enclosure as soon as he thought Credence was ready for it. But the orb swirling with a black storm of a beast made Credence uneasy. It made him feel like he couldn’t breathe and his own storm cloud always started clawing inside him when he went to close. So he stayed away. But now, Gertie went there without hesitation. Through the flap gently moving in the charmed wind, he could see her circling the orb thoughtfully. Credence walked a little closer, just to better see what she was doing. Gertie was sitting down amidst all the snow now, the tome from yesterday beside her and notebook in hand, scribbling away frantically. He pretended to be busy with the shovel, pretended to be too occupied with cleaning out erumpent dung to notice Mr. Scamander following Gertie to the winter enclosure. 

As soon as Mr. Scamander was out of sight, Credence moved closer. He could see them through the flap slowly moving to and fro, and he inched closer to better hear what they were saying. He caught sight of Mr. Scamander’s face, and Credence felt like he had forgotten how to breathe. He had never seen Mr. Scamander so angry.

“What?” Gertie asked in a tired voice. 

“You did it on purpose, didn't you? You pushed him deliberately to the edge of unraveling.” Mr. Scamander continued to scowl at her, his head tilted slightly and Credence could tell that he wasn't meeting her eyes even though he was facing her way. “You set a bloody boggart on him without warning!” Credence had never before heard Mr. Scamander curse.

“So what if I did?” Gertie asked and stared defiantly at Mr. Scamander, challenging him.

“It was an unspeakably cruel trick to play on him and he deserves better.”

“Oh, don't ye dare, Scamander!” she snorted. “Get off yer high horse. Noble though yer intentions may be, we both know ye’re doing it as much out curiosity as anything else. Don't pretend otherwise.” From an impossibly small pocket, Gertie pulled out a very average-sized bottle filled with amber liquid. She took a deep swig and glared at Mr. Scamander.

“You sound like your uncle,” Mr. Scamander retorted quietly, his jaw clenched and his eyes still not meeting Gertie’s.

“Give it a rest, Scamander,” Gertie said and took another sip. “Firewhiskey?” She held out the bottle, the tone of her voice completely changed, as if the harsh exchange between them never happened.

“Don't mind if I do,” he answered with more warmth than before, but Credence could tell Mr. Scamander’s eyes were still icy when they fell on Gertie. He took a small sip of the amber liquid and a shudder went through him.

“Why didn’t it manifest yesterday?” Gertie said, more to herself than to Mr. Scamander. She tapped her index-finger against her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. “Why didn’t it manifest?” Suddenly she was up on her feet, pacing about, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She glanced occasionally to the orb.

“He was more afraid when I implied he might have feelings for me uncle, than he was of the boggart,” she mumbled and glanced at Mr. Scamander who didn’t look back at her. Mr. Scamander was staring at the orb with sorrow in his eyes. “Oh,” she said suddenly, stopping so fast she almost collided with Mr. Scamander who had begun circling the orb. “What if… Barebone!” She looked about the winter enclosure, seemingly surprised that Credence wasn’t in there with her and Mr. Scamander.

Credence hurried back to the erumpent enclosure and pretended to be very occupied with cleaning it out.

“Barebone!” Gertie exclaimed and skidded to a halt.

“Leave him!” Mr. Scamander called before he too came to a halt before Credence. Gertie paid him no heed.

“Barebone! That senator that yer Obscurus killed, Shaw. What did he do?” Gertie asked, speaking nearly too fast for Credence to catch what she was saying.

“W-what?” Credence stammered, feeling like an icy hand clenched his heart in a tight fist.

“What did he do to ye? He must have done something. Come on, what did he do?” Gertie said and Credence could tell she was trying very hard to not get ahead of herself with excitement.

“He… He called me a freak….” Credence admitted, his head bowed. He didn’t want to think about Senator Shaw. “And he said… That we all belonged in the trash,” he finished quietly.

“When senator Shaw said those things; how did it make you feel? Were you afraid of him?” She was staring at him with her green eyes all wide and glittering.

“No. I… I was angry with him,” Credence answered, casting his eyes down. “He didn’t have the right to speak like that to us. To me. I was... Angry. I wanted him to hurt like…”

“Ah-ha!” Gertie exclaimed and turned to Mr. Scamander. “That could be it!” she said and looked at Mr. Scamander eagerly. “We’ll have to do more research, of course. It’s still too early to say, but it’s something.”

“What on earth are you on about?”Mr. Scamander asked, his tone still a little icy.

“What if,” Gertie said and took a step closer to Mr. Scamander and there was something almost manic glittering in her eyes. “What if it’s not fear?” she said and then she suddenly looked at Credence again, staring him up and down.

“I’m sorry, Credence, I am so sorry I made you face the boggart,” she said and went over to him, squeezing his face between her hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what it was, I’m sorry, I truly am, but I had to try and find out more, and now, we’ve actually got someplace to start,” she finished with a triumphant laugh.

Credence suddenly realized what Mr. Scamander had been so mad about. That creature that turned into a mean copy of Mr. Graves, saying those nasty things, she had done that on purpose. A part of him snarled and clawed and wanted to make her pay, but he had seen what the creature turned into for her as well. He imagined that once upon a time there must have been a woman instead of Mr. Graves, a beautiful woman that looked like a movie star. But that sight had become reality for Gertie. Credence didn’t know how she had found out or even if she had seen the body of that woman Alice after she had died, but he was certain she had already had to endure her deepest, darkest fear. Now, all Gertie had left were Mr. Graves and her dragons, and Credence couldn’t find it in him to hold any of it against her.

“We’re still a long way to figuring out how exactly how it works and how to get it out of you without killing you,” Gertie mumbled, pacing about. “But we’ll bow to that hippogriff when we get there.” Credence wondered what on earth she was talking about, and he had no idea what a hippogriff was. 

“But now we know where to start!” Gertie continued, oblivious to the confusion on Credence’s face. Her grin was so big it almost reached her ears. Even though he should be mad at her, Credence found himself smiling back. Mr. Scamander still wasn’t smiling at Gertie, but Credence found that kind of moving as well. He knew Mr. Scamander only did it out of concern for Credence’s well being, and he looked at Mr. Scamander and tried his best to convey his gratitude with a smile.

Credence didn’t notice it himself, but he straightened up a little more that day. Soon he would hardly be hunched over at all. Mr. Scamander looked at him, though, and Mr. Scamander noticed. When Credence had turned back to Gertie, a small smile twitched in the corner of Mr. Scamander’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does one make death funny? Well, one can go about the "Swiss Army Man"-way, and to be honest, there was a fair amount of giggling at the thought of a flatulent Dead Graves Boggart, but I couldn't bring myself to do it properly, so therefore all that remains is a hint. (Because let's face it, I just can't write a scene with a flatulent, dead but still impeccably dressed and handsome boggart-Graves...)
> 
> And, I know it feels a bit odd that the incantation comes before the boggart changes, but I actually copied the exact way it's done in "Order of the Phoenix" with Molly Weasly and Lupin.
> 
> Don't know when chapter four will be up. But thank you so much for reading, and for all the love and comments! So glad you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> Also! When I started writing, I made a Pinterest-board of things that inspire me when it comes to this fic. I realise most of it won't make any sense to anyone but me, but if you want to check it out, you're more than welcome. Possibly mild spoilers of where my thoughts are headed later I suppose.
> 
> https://www.pinterest.se/wibblybelle/come-along-barebone/


	4. Letter in the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Credence gets a letter that makes his heart skip quite a few beats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, you guys! I have not forgotten about you, but a new project in school has been all-consuming of both time and energy.
> 
> But here we go. I hope you like it!

The moonlight shone through the tall windows in the library as Credence climbed the brass ladder, reaching for a book on the top-most shelf. When Gertie had showed him this room earlier today, Credence had felt like his jaw dropped to the floor. The sitting-room alone held more books than he had ever seen in his entire life and then he had found out there was an entire vast room filled with nothing but books. The thought of it had made Credence’s heart pound harder. 

He had begged Mr. Scamander not to leave that very afternoon, just a few more hours so Credence could at least look at the books a little more. Mr. Scamander had agreed with a hint of his half-smile. Gertie had said Credence could bring as many books as he liked when he and Mr. Scamander left in the morning and that had settled the matter. Mr. Scamander agreed they could stay one more night. Credence could hardly believe his luck. He had already picked out twenty books and then some but he couldn’t sleep so there he was now, picking out a few more.

“Figured ye’d be here,” Gertie’s bemused voice said behind him then and he almost lost his footing on the ladder. “I don’t sleep either.” She gave him a small sort of smile Credence couldn’t quite place. He blushed when he saw she was wearing only a men’s pajamas, the sleeves rolled up. The moonlight almost brought the images on her arms to life. 

“I’ve got something for ye, Barbone,” she said and leaned against the big desk in the middle of the room. “He asked me ter give it to ye when the time was right,” she added, more to herself Credence realized. She pulled something out of her pocket and looked at it with a sad sort of smile. “But since ye’re leaving tomorrow morning, I don’t think there will be a time more right than this. I’ll eh…” she trailed off and Credence realized she was holding a letter. “I’ll just leave ye to it,” she finished and placed it beside her on the desk. “Good night, Barebone.” She smiled kindly at him before disappearing out the door.

Credence slowly climbed down the ladder. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it against his ribs. He tried very hard not to get his hopes up, but in his stomach it felt like a thousand butterflies flitted about. When he reached for the letter he noticed his hands were shaking. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and broke the seal on the envelope.

_Dear Credence_

_I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened to you. It was_  
never my intention that you get hurt in any way, but through my actions, you were  
and for that I am sorry. 

_If ever you have questions, I would gladly try and provide you with answers. Gertie  
can surely tell you how to easiest reach me should you like to write._

_Tina tells me you travel with the Scamander now. I wish you all the best and  
good luck with your research, the both of you._

_I do not labour under the delusion that you should ever like to see me again, and I_  
_would never force you to. But in the improbable event that you should like to,  
you need only say the word._

__

_Respectfully yours,_

__

_Percival_

__

Credence drew a shuddering breath and read the letter over and over again. Since he had found out almost three months ago that it had never been Mr. Graves that had hurt him like that, that the real Mr. Graves, _his_ Mr. Graves, had been captured, tortured and left for dead, he had wanted nothing more than to see the man one more time. Credence longed for the gorgeous man in ways that made him blush in the darkest hours of the night. But he also longed for him in a way that made his heart ache and he sometimes thought he saw Mr. Graves out of the corner of his eye.

__

He had never dared to tell Mr. Scamander that he wished he could see Mr. Graves. He had overheard Tina and Mr. Scamander talking when they thought he was sleeping. They had made it pretty clear they didn’t think he should ever see Mr. Graves again. But they didn’t know how his chest ached for the man.

__

Of course Credence wanted to see him. Even though he knew that Mr. Graves never had and never would feel the same that Credence felt for him, even though he had come to realize that Mr. Graves had only had a professional interest in him and that he had only been kind to Credence out of pity, even though he knew all that, Credence still wanted to see him.

__

_You need only say the word._

__

Credence didn’t know if Mr. Graves had meant it in a more figurative sense, but Credence would have shouted the word from the highest mountain if only he had known what word it was.

__

“Mr. Graves?” he whispered tentatively into the dark room, not quite sure what made him do it. He felt rather silly as nothing happened. “Percival?” he asked and suddenly he felt his entire body go warm, like he had been sitting in the sun for hours. “Percival, I do want to see you.” His heart seemed to stop and race uncontrollably at the same time as with a soft ‘pop’, the man was suddenly standing in front of him, the moonlight illuminating him from behind.

__

“Credence?” Mr. Graves asked like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Credence, is that you?”

__

“Yes, Mr. Graves.” Credence couldn’t help the silly smile he felt spreading across his face.

__

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to…” Mr. Graves trailed off and took a step closer to Credence. His waistcoat was open, his shirt was unbuttoned to about halfway down to his stomach, the scorpion stickpins in his hand. Credence tried his best not to look at the unbuttoned shirt and the undershirt beneath it.

__

Credence felt like something that he didn’t even know had been missing, suddenly had fallen into place again.

__

“I got your letter, just now,” Credence said and had to cast his eyes down. They had strayed to the unbuttoned shirt of Mr. Graves’ again. Credence clutched both the letter and the book he had gotten from the top-most shelf to his chest. He had dreamed of this for so long but now that it was truly Mr. Graves standing before him, not an impostor of any kind, he didn’t quite know what to do.

__

Of course, a part of him wanted to throw himself in Mr. Graves’ arms but just the thought of it turned his ears pink and Credence was glad the moonlight streaming in through the window made everything seem somewhat monochrome.

__

“Mr. Graves, would you like some tea?” Credence said finally and met the man’s eyes.

__

“Yes,” Mr. Graves said and huffed a laugh. “Yes, I’d like that. Unless,” he added and there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes, “we try and find out where Gertie keeps the firewhiskey.” The smile he gave Credence made him feel like his heart might jump out of his chest at any second.

__

 

__

 

__

“If you want, I could just…” Mr. Graves offered with a small smile and waved his hand in the air.

__

“No, it’s okay,” Credence said and tried to hide the his grin by occupying himself with the stove. “I don’t mind,” he explained and blew carefully on the kindle he was lighting.

__

“I don’t know you do it,” Mr. Graves said and Credence heard his hand drag over his stubbly cheek. “It drove me nearly insane those weeks when they were examining my wand after…” he trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. “Well, let’s just say it was a relief to everyone when I finally got it back,” Mr. Graves said finally, his husky baritone sending shivers down Credence’s spine. Oh, how he had missed that voice.

__

Credence looked away from Mr. Graves under the pretence of finding the jar with tea leaves. He felt his ears go pink again and he was sure Mr. Graves must hear the way his heart thumped away madly in his chest.

__

“Thank you,” said Mr. Graves then and Credence turned to look at him, confusion furrowing his eyebrows.

__

“For what, Mr. Graves?” he asked.

__

“I can’t believe you actually…” Mr. Graves mumbled to himself, looking down at his hands. “I’m not sure I could have, had the roles been reversed,” he explained and looked at Credence.

__

“You were my friend before that… _impostor_ kidnapped you and took your place,” Credence said and tried to reassure Mr. Graves with a small, shy smile.

__

“Yeah,” Mr. Graves scoffed. “Credence, I wasn’t a friend.” Mr. Graves gave him a pained look. “You must understand that. I used you, just like that… That vile man did.” Mr. Graves bent his head in shame and looked at his hands again.

__

“You see,” Mr. Graves continued quietly. “I had this theory of what was causing all those disturbances, wreaking havoc in my city. And then Tina got herself suspended for attacking that no-maj, but I promised her to take a look at it and the second I saw you, the way you cowered and hunched your shoulders, I knew, I just knew, that if I were looking for an Obscurus, the Second Salemer’s would be the place look.” Mr. Graves sniffed and rubbed his eyes.

__

“I should never have… Involved you in all of this. I am so sorry, Credence, I really am. I should have brought your case to Seraphina immediately. We could have protected you. But I wouldn’t, would I? No, no, I needed proof,” Mr. Graves scoffed to himself. A part of Credence wanted to hug Mr. Graves and tell him that everything was alright.

__

“I didn’t want to risk being laughed at, you see. There hadn’t been an Obscurial in America for centuries. I wanted hard evidence before I brought the theory to MACUSA. I should have… I should have just…” Mr. Graves broke off and Credence was surprised to hear him sob. He had never imagined Mr. Graves this vulnerable.

__

“And then… Then I realized I was… And I knew I had to get away, needed to clear my head and I walked right into his trap, right into it, and it took them weeks and it nearly broke...” Mr. Graves mumbled and Credence understood about half of it.

__

The kettle whistled and Credence occupied himself with pouring tea into two large cups, giving Mr. Graves the chance to regain his composure.

__

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Graves said when Credence put down the cup in front of him. “I’m sorry, Credence. What must you think of me?” he mumbled and wrapped his hands around the cup. 

__

Credence didn’t know what to say so he sat quiet and sipped his tea. Mr. Graves had seen him at his most vulnerable and not walked away or seemed to think less of Credence for it, and Credence sure wouldn't walk away or think less of Mr. Graves for it. On the contrary, I made Credence want to be close and to touch the man even more. 

__

“Do you want to see the dragons, Mr. Graves?” Credence said when the silence had stretched so long it made him unfortable.

__

“They’ve hatched?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and Credence couldn’t help but smiling when he remembered Gertie said he trimmed them.

__

Credence nodded. “Yes. Just yesterday when we arrived,” he said. “Or, if you’d like, I could show you the mooncalves in Mr. Scamander’s case?” Credence offered.

__

Mr. Graves smiled and looked down at his cup.

__

“Thank you Credence, but I… Eh…” he trailed off. “I don’t want to intrude. And I should be getting back.”

__

“Oh,” Credence said, feeling his heart drop. 

__

“If I don’t turn up tomorrow, the whole of MACUSA will join the search party this time, I’m sure,” he said and Credence couldn’t help but smiling when the man chuckled to himself.

__

“I don't expect you to ever forgive me, Credence,” Mr. Graves said as he got up, his face turning serious. 

__

“Well I would. But you haven't done anything wrong. Look,” he added, interrupting Mr. Graves as he started to protest. “I don't care why you turned up outside the church one night.” He looked Mr. Graves in the eye and it made his heart feel like it was skipping about his chest. “But you did, Mr. Graves. And you came back. And you kept coming back and that's what matters to me.” Credence didn't like that there was so much pain in Mr. Graves’ eyes when he looked at Credence. 

__

“I probably would have forgiven you even if you were as cruel as the boggart made you today,” Credence continued and tried to smile reassuringly at Mr. Graves. 

__

“You saw a boggart today? ” Mr Graves asked, his well-trimmed eyebrows furrowing just like Gertie’s. 

__

“Yes, apparently Gertie had one in a box and she let it out and made me meet it so she could study the Obscurus,” Credence explained. 

__

“She _what_?” Mr. Graves growled. Credence looked down at his feet, shrinking away from the fury in Mr. Graves’ voice. 

__

“In two hours time, ask me to come back,” Mr. Graves said and gently made Credence look at him. “If you ask me, it makes it easier for me to Apparate here.”

__

Credence nodded and Mr. Graves Disapparated with a sound like the crack of a whip.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are. And there he is, finally. To tell you the truth, even I was a little worried it took him so long, and I missed him, but now he's here, our Mr. Graves.
> 
>  
> 
> Fun fact: When writing this fic, I listen to either the soundtrack of the film, or a playlist with the soundtrack to "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford", a Swedish band called Detektivbyrån and Yann Tiersen. Or one of my playlists full of mellow indiesongs about heartbreak (yes, there's Bon Iver there). Or, for some reason, "The Story" sung by Brandi Carlile.
> 
>  
> 
> If you have questions or comments or feedback, please don't hesitate to give us shout!
> 
> Loads of love


	5. The Wilson Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, guests turn up at the castle and Credence makes the acquentaince of a lovely canine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! It's been quite busy lately, for both me and my beta-readers... So it's only been beta:ed about half-way through, but I decided to wing it so bare with any typos and stuff.
> 
> Hope you like it!

Credence woke with a start and found himself entangled in the sheets of the bed. Confused, he wondered how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was sitting at the kitchen table, trying to read but mostly staring at the clock ticking ever so slowly, waiting for the two hours to pass.

_Oh no._ Sunlight streamed through the windows of the guest room. 

“Mr. Graves!” he said loudly. “Percival, come back, please! I'm sorry! I fell asleep!”

Nothing happened. 

“Percival, please,” he pleaded but still nothing happened. He slumped back against the pillows. Of course Mr. Graves wasn't coming back. Why would he? It had been silly of him to ever think anything else. 

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself and tried to untangle himself from the sheets. “Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!” He pummeled the mattress as hard as he could with his fists. 

He tried to calm his breathing. Surely, Mr. Scamander was already waiting for him to get ready. Credence tugged on his clothes and gathered up the last of the books and went down to the kitchen. 

Half way down the stairs, he froze. He heard voices shouting. He dropped the books and ran head over heels down the last of the stairs and into the hallway with the porcelain dog. 

“He's not some beast you can keep locked up in your ridiculous suitcase!” Mr. Graves bellowed. 

Credence pushed open the kitchen door and found Mr. Graves and Gertie and Mr. Scamander in there. Mr. Graves was absolutely furious and he looked ready to hex anyone in sight.

“Mornin’, Barebone,” Gertie grinned cheerfully from where she was leaning against one of the counters. Mr. Graves spun around at her words.

“Credence,” he said and took a step towards him, his expression softening immediately. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves, I fell asleep,” Credence said and cast his eyes down, embarrassed. 

“It’s alright, Credence, you did nothing wrong,” Mr. Graves said and when Credence stole a glance at him, he noticed Mr. Graves trying to smile reassuringly but failing spectacularly. He was still seething with anger.

“Breakfast?” Gertie asked in the same cheery voice and waved her wand, making eggs fly from the counter. They cracked and scrambled themselves in mid-air, landing steaming and hot on his plate. Greasy sausages and bacon and a grilled tomato quickly followed.

A shaky truce seemed to have settled in the kitchen as Mr. Scamander sat down at the table.

“Breakfast, uncle?” Gertie said but didn’t really take her eyes off Credence. 

“No, thank you. I’ll just… Eh… If you’ll excuse me,” he said and made for the door leading out into the gardens.

“They’ll kill ye, ye know,” Gertie said in a sort of sing-song.

“I know. Unless you and Scamander succeed in giving me a heart-attack first,” he said with a wry smile and disappeared out the door, leaving after him a ringing silence.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Mr. Scamander said after a while, “but I prefer his Howlers.”

“He sent you a Howler?” Gertie roared with laughter.

“Yes, he did,” Mr. Scamander said, the corners of his mouth twisting into his characteristic half-smile.

“What’s a ‘Howler’?” Credence asked.

“A Howler? Well, it’s basically what me dear uncle’s been doing since two this morning, comprised into a letter so ye can shout at someone far away even though ye’re not there in person,” Gertie grinned and Credence thought it was a bit odd that she was so cheerful. Had Mr. Graves been shouting like that at Credence, he sure wouldn’t have been smiling.

“Why is Mr. Graves so angry?” Credence asked, looking at his scrambled eggs.

“Apparently, he didn’t like the whole boggart-thing,” Gertie grinned. “For one,” she added with a wicked smile at Mr. Scamander.

“Oh,” Credence told his bacon. “I’m sorry,” he said and poked at the tomato with his fork. “I didn’t mean to make him angry at you, miss Gertie,” he said quietly to his plate.

“Don’t call me miss. Gertie’s fine, Barebone,” she corrected but her tone was warm and friendly. “I’m a dragon trainer, lad. Believe me, I have seen worse. Percival’s quite adorable when he’s angry.”

Mr. Scamander actually snickered beside Gertie.

“I’m not sure I quite agree,” said the magizoologist but when Credence stole a glance at him, the half-smile was there, softening Mr. Scamander’s features.

Mr. Graves returned and Credence felt his heart flutter. He sat down next to Credence and conjured up coffee with his wand. 

“None o’ that,” Gertie said and waved her wand in turn, making a full plate of scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon and tomatoes land in front of Mr. Graves. “In this house, breakfast is food, not coffee and cigarettes. Eat.”

Credence felt a little silly when his heart twisted in jealousy at the affection that passed between Mr. Graves and Gertie when they exchanged a look.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Mr. Scamander said then and Credence wondered how he’d finished his plate so fast, “I have to tend to the Occamys,” he nodded and, suitcase in hand, headed out into the hallway. Credence guessed he didn’t much feel like opening the case in the kitchen with Mr. Graves.

“Oh that’s right!” Mr. Scamander said and his head popped back into the kitchen. “Whenever you’re ready, Credence.”

Credence only nodded in response, his insides twisting. 

“Gertie said you had more books?” Mr. Scamander asked.

“Yes, I… Oh. I’m so sorry, Gertie, I dropped them on the stairs… I heard voices shouting, I thought maybe…” he trailed off.

“No worries,” Gertie smiled and she seemed to understand exactly what Credence had meant.

“I’ll get them for you then,” Mr. Scamander said and disappeared again. Mr. Graves got up from the table and began pacing about the room.

“Uncle,” Gertie said calmly but Credence could tell there was something else behind it. “He will be fine. Give it a rest,” she said and pushed her empty plate away. Mr. Graves only scoffed.

“Newt is a good man, Perce,” she added, and smiled at Credence. Mr. Graves only scoffed at that as well. “He’s better off there,” Gertie said with finality but she wouldn’t look at Credence now. Suddenly he realized, with a flutter of his heart, that they were talking about him.

“A boggart,” Mr. Graves muttered to himself. “You set a fucking boggart on him!”

“So I did, yes,” Gertie answered with a mischievous grin. “Ye should have seen what it turned into, uncle.”

Credence felt panic rise within him but Gertie shot him a reassuring look. She shook her head ever so slightly and smiled kindly. Credence swallowed hard.

“It was horrible, uncle!” Gertie said, her grin widening. “It was all wrinkly and bald,” she continued and waggled her bushy eyebrows at Credence. “And it looked centuries old, teeth all yellow and rattling breath. And the nose-hair!” Gertie exclaimed with a dramatic flourish of her hand. Credence couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped him. “Dreadfully ugly thing, it was, uncle!” she said and winked at Credence.

Mr. Graves stopped pacing suddenly and looked out the window.

“Is that a motorcycle?” he said and Gertie’s grin widened.

“I thought it taken them unusually long!” she exclaimed and got up. “Come along, Barebone!” She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him with her out into the gardens.

A motorcycle with a sidecar was sputtering its way towards the castle.

“Is that a dog?” Mr. Graves said, standing so close behind Credence he could actually feel the heat radiating off of him. Credence knew that the cold around him had very little to do with the goosebumps all over his skin.

“Yep,” Gertie grinned. “Joel.”

“Joel?” Mr. Graves snorted. “It’s called ‘Joel’?”

“Yep.”

Credence looked at the motorcycle. Sure enough, in the sidecar, there was a big dog with fluffy fur and a pair of goggles and an aviator’s leather helmet. Driving the motorcycle, was a woman in a brown tweed jacket and leather boots that reached up almost all the way to her knees. She too, wore goggles and an aviator’s hat along with a big, knitted dark green scarf. As the motorcycle drew closer he could tell that behind Joel the dog, there was another woman. He couldn’t make out much of her though, on account of the dog in her lap and the goggles and leather hat she wore as well as the other two. As soon as the motorcycle slowed to a halt, Joel the dog leapt out of it, barking happily and running straight for Gertie.

“Hello you big brute!” she said and squeezed the dog’s furry face. “I wondered when you’d turn up, yes I did, yes I did,” she cooed and reached down to let the dog sniff and lick her face.

“Mhm, mhm, yes, absolutely,” she said like it was telling her something. “Joel, this is Credence,” she said then and the dog barked happily at him. She tugged off the goggles and the hat before Joel started sniffing Credence, wagging his tail. Credence reached down to let it sniff his hand.

Joel the dog licked his hand and barked again. Credence glanced at Gertie who nodded and waved her hand at him.

“Go on, he wants to say hello!”

Credence bent down so the dog could sniff his ear. Joel the dog was beside himself with happiness, licking every inch of Credence’s face he could reach. He nodded and tried to talk the way Gertie had done but all he could do was laugh as Joel the dog tickled him with its whiskers. 

“You didn't mention anything about having gentlemen callers,” the slimmest of the two women said and shrugged her short hair out of her eyes when her hat and goggles came off. 

“Oh, I have one more in there, but he's hiding in his suitcase,” Gertie grinned and hugged the woman. 

“Newt’s here?” the other woman said as she bent forwards and brushed her fingers through her long dark mass of hair. “Great!” she said and flipped her hair in a long arch as she straightened again. She wore a tan, fur-lined leather flight jacket, and like Gertie and the other woman, pants. 

“Yeah, but ye better hurry if ye want to catch him, they're leaving any moment, he and Credence,” Gertie answered as she hugged the woman. 

Credence tried his best to hide the sadness that welled up in him at her words, but he had a distinct feeling that Joel knew exactly how Credence felt because the dog licked him again and rubbed his head against Credence’s chest. 

“Credence, this is Esther,” Gertie said and waved her hand at the short-haired woman in a brown tweed jacket. 

Credence immediately got to his feet and shook the woman's outstretched hand.

“Hello,” he said but couldn't quite meet her eyes. 

“Nice to meet you!” the woman said and squeezed his hand in both of hers.

“And this is Elsa,” Gertie said and the woman with long, dark hair and the flight jacket, came and shook his hand. 

“Hello, Credence!” Elsa said, smiling and shaking his hand vigorously. 

“Hello,” Credence repeated and did his best to return her smile as well. 

“And this is my uncle,” Gertie grinned and continued the introductions. “Percival, meet the Wilson sisters!”

Credence glanced to Mr. Graves as the women shook his hand. His waistcoat was still open, his sleeves still rolled up but he had buttoned his shirt a little, though not all the way up Credence realized and felt his ears go pink again. And though whatever Mr. Graves used to make his hair stay neatly back-combed, now had begun to lose it’s grip and therefore some strands had fallen down and made him shake them out of his every now and then, Credence thought he was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. Mr. Graves never cowered or hunched his back, he always walked with his head held high and his shoulders straight, in a way that seemed to be as natural to him as breathing. A part of Credence wanted nothing more at that moment, than to take Mr. Graves by the hand and go far, far away, where it was just him and Credence forever, never returning.

But Credence forced himself to smile politely, absentmindedly patting Joel on the head as the dog kept nudging his leg whenever Credence stopped. It felt like the dog was the only one in the entire world that knew how his heart threatened to break.

 

 

The soft tones of the guitar gently lulled him to sleep. Credence blinked his eyes and tried to resist, but his stomach was full after a hearty meal, and the warmth and pressure of Joel the dog, who had fallen asleep in his lap, was gently reassuring and made him feel safe, and all in all it made it almost impossible to stay awake.

Esther’s mellow voice sang words he didn’t understand, but the melancholy of her voice and the guitar felt like it went straight into his heart, like it was the language of his soul. Her sister joined her occasionally in the song, a few notes brighter here or a couple tones lower there, weaving in and out, seamlessly creating a background that lifted Esther’s voice even more.

Mr. Scamander had decided one more night couldn’t hurt, and they weren’t in any real hurry anyway. Credence tried to keep the flicker of hope in his heart down and controlled, but softly, his thoughts whispered that maybe, maybe Mr. Scamander could be convinced to stay even a little longer. 

Apparently, Mr. Graves was staying for a week. Credence had overheard him and Gertie talking about how long time off that woman Picquery, the president, had given Mr. Graves.  
“She didn’t give me,” Mr. Graves had huffed. “I demanded,” he had added with a smile that made Credence feel like he was melting. Mr. Graves demanding something from a president was exactly the sort of thing Credence could imagine the man doing.

Credence allowed himself to close his eyes, his head resting against the plush armchair. Tonight, Mr. Graves was sitting in a conjured-up armchair, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. Credence had thought he caught Mr. Graves staring at him every now and then, but whenever he dared meeting Mr. Graves’ eyes, the man seemed lost in thoughts.

“Uncle, I think ye’ll have to carry Credence to his bed tonight as well,” Credence heard Gertie say and he opened his eyes a little to catch her grinning at Mr. Graves in a way Credence couldn’t figure out what it meant.

Credence suddenly realized how he had gotten to his bed after falling asleep in the kitchen the night before. He hoped no one could tell how his cheeks reddened in the dim light.

“Well, I think we had better call it a night,” Mr. Scamander said and got up from the armchair he had been sitting in. “I’d like to get an early start tomorrow,” he finished and Credence scrunched up his eyes against his words.

“Come now, Newt!” Gertie laughed. “We both know ye’re not leaving tomorrow. Stay for the week, at least. Ye’re both most welcome, ye know that. Besides, it’ll do ye both some good to settle someplace for a bit,” she finished and Credence forgot how to breathe, hoping against hope…

“We do have places to be, you know.”

“They can wait, Scamander,” Gertie said and Credence thought he could hear sadness in her voice. He realized that Esther had stopped playing. Credence opened his eyes to steal a glance at Mr. Graves but he got up and walked out of the room and Credence wanted nothing more than to follow him.

“I don’t imagine he shares your enthusiasm,” Mr. Scamander said and ever so slightly, his mouth had turned into a ghost of his half-smile.

“He’s just jealous, the grumpy old bastard,” Gertie said, her voice laced with fondness. “Besides, it’s not his house and therefore he doesn’t get a say in the matter,” she concluded with finality.

“Credence,” Mr. Scamander said and turned to him. “What do you think?”

Credence just stared at Mr. Scamander.

“Wh-what?” he stuttered.

“Would you like us to stay for a week or would you rather head to Iceland tomorrow morning?”

Credence didn’t know what to answer. He wanted to stay for a little while, oh how he wanted to stay! But he knew Mr. Scamander wanted to get going to Iceland. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

“I…” he tried, shooting Mr. Scamander a look. He found himself in one of those rare moments of locking eyes with the man. “I think I’d like to stay a little…” he said quietly. “If that’s alright with you, Mr. Scamander?”

“It is, if that’s what you want,” Mr. Scamander said and Credence nodded slowly, hesitantly.

Joel the dog grunted in his sleep and snuggled up closer to Credence like the dog never intended on letting him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, you won't have to wait so long for the next chapter, it's pretty much done, I'm just having a little trouble with dear old Graves. He's being awfully stubborn. But we're working on it.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading.
> 
>  
> 
> Loads of love.


	6. The dog, the man and the morning cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, breakfast is served at the castle, after a short walk in the cold, misty morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to stop arguing with Graves and let him have his way, so here it is, un-beta:ed and probably full of typos, but finished at least. And since you all had to wait so long last time, I decided to upload this one as soon as possible. Turned out it was today.
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you like it!

“No… Don’t. No, stop it,” Credence groaned as he was awoken by Joel licking him all over the face. “No, stop it you brute!” Credence laughed. “Fine, fine alright!” he surrendered to the dog’s affection and sat up to cuddle him. Outside the window, the first light of dawn had begun to spread across the sky.

“Oh Joel,” Credence said with a smile. Joel barked happily. “No, no, shh” Credence quickly hushed him. “You wanna go out, huh? Is that it? Yeah? Is that it?”

Credence quickly tugged on his clothes and went down the stairs. As he got to the entrance hall, he looked about him, confused. He didn’t know where his coat and scarf was. They had simply zoomed away that first night.

Joel nudged him gently, bringing Credence out of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Joel, but I can’t find my coat,” Credence tried but as he said it, he knew exactly where it was. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. He headed to the kitchen, and sure enough, on a hanger by the door that led to the gardens, was his coat and his scarf. He had the distinct feeling they hadn’t been there the day before, but he shrugged them on and headed out into the cold morning.

He walked among what he assumed were flowerbeds and herbaries, because of the scent of that drifted towards him as Joel ran through everything, barking happily and occasionally stopping to lift his leg at some shrub or plant. Credence imagined the gardens green and blossoming instead of the dull gray and brown state it was in now. Mist was rolling over the open lands around the castle and Credence stretched out his arms, slowly turning around in a circle. He imagined the cold air around him a cleansing force, washing away the grief and pain of his past and for moment, he felt at peace.

When he started walking again, he walked with his back straighter, almost entirely without hunching.

“Here, Joel!” he called as he realized he hadn’t seen the dog for a while. “Joel!” He felt worry building in him. “Joel!”

At the sound of the dog barking, he spun around only to find Joel sitting by the herbaries near the kitchen again. Next to him was Mr. Graves, wearing only a striped pajamas and a knitted sweater. He was sitting on a small garden wall, his legs crossed, smoking and scratching Joel behind the ear. 

“Good morning, Credence,” Mr. Graves said as Credence came over to where he was sitting.

“Good morning, Mr. Graves,” he said and couldn’t help the small smile.

“Do you smoke?” he asked, holding out a cigarette case towards him.

“No thank you, Mr. Graves. I mean no, I don’t,” Credence said and felt a right fool for not even being able to speak properly in front the man.

“You know, Percival would do just as well,” Mr. Graves said and gave him a small smile.

Credence cast his eyes down and tried to make his heart slow down. He hadn’t really been alone with Mr. Graves since he had arrived the night before last. Credence sat down on the wall next to Mr. Graves. The heat from Mr. Graves’ body radiated off of him and sent shivers down Credence’s spine. Joel came over and rested his head in Credence’s lap. The dog turned his head to the side and looked at Credence with big, brown eyes.

“Gertie told me she had a theory about your Obscurus,” Mr. Graves said when the silence had stretched uncomfortably long. “And that… eh… She wanted to test it,” Mr. Graves said, distracted by something.

“I don’t know that much, really,” Credence admitted. “All she said was ‘what if it’s not fear’ but I don’t know what she meant by that or how…” he trailed off.

“She was excited, wasn’t she?” Mr. Graves said with a small chuckle that surprised Credence. It was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard. “Yeah, she speaks in half-sentences when she’s excited,” Mr. Graves explained. “Makes it near impossible to keep up with her when her mind is racing away way, way ahead of you,” he smiled and stubbed his cigarette out.

“She thinks revenge is what makes it lash out,” Mr. Graves continued. “Fear stirs it, but the lust for revenge makes it act and strike.”

“Oh,” Credence said. Well, it did make sense, he thought to himself. Come to think of it, the storm had never fully turned him unless he wanted to hurt someone who had hurt him. For a long time, it had made him explode away from himself and tear through buildings and parks when Mary Lou had been extra cruel or hurt him worse than usual. It wasn’t until Senator Shaw had spoken those mean words that it had made him hurt someone.

“You know, Queenie Goldstein had this idea,” Mr. Graves said then and Credence felt a warmth in his heart at the mention of the woman. “She came to my office after I had… returned. And she asked me to come with her to this no-maj newspaper company. Apparently it's owned by the father to that senator.”

Mr. Graves shot him a calculating look and then continued. 

“Miss Goldstein told me to ask people about the dead senator and what he had been like, pretending we were new interns. Miss Goldstein did quite a transfiguration number on both of us,” Mr. Graves added, chuckling to himself. Credence tried to smile but found it rather difficult. 

“Credence, oftentimes people say one thing but their mind speaks another. Queenie listened in on the gossip people were reluctant to voice. That Shaw character, he wasn't a very good man at all. Apparently, people had very colorful opinions about him.”

Mr. Graves ran his hands through his hair, combing it back, trying to make it stay that way. 

“And in my honest and frankly not so humble opinion, Mary Lou Barebone was a vile woman and I'm glad she's dead. She was lucky to die at the hands of the Obscurus,” Mr. Graves mused and Credence’s insides twisted a little at the causality with which Mr. Graves spoke of Credence and that other life he tried so hard to repent for and forget at the same time. 

“It was undoubtedly painful, but it was also swift, something I've come to regard as some sort of mercy in and of itself. I would not have been so kind,” he added, his voice a low growl. 

“I'm sorry, Credence,” Mr. Graves said then and shot him an apologetic look. “I wasn't thinking. I fully understand if this subject makes you rather uneasy. That wasn't my intention.”

“It's alright,” Credence began but Mr. Graves interrupted him. 

“No it isn't and I should damn well know better,” he said and leaned his head in his hands for a beat before running them through his hair again. 

“I'd offer you breakfast to compensate for my clumsiness, but I'm afraid I've never quite been one to take an interest in cooking spells,” Mr. Graves said and shot him another apologetic look, his eyebrows furrowing just like Gertie’s. “And well, to put it nicely, I’m simply no good with the no-maj way either.

“It’s alright, Mr. Graves. I’m used to cooking without magic,” Credence said and smiled to himself.

“I’ll never catch you using my first name, will I?” Mr. Graves said and wouldn’t take his eyes off Credence.

“Well, that depends,” he said, his smile widening. Credence didn’t know where he got nerve. “Will you turn up by Apparition every time I do?” he asked and when Mr. Graves laughed heartily, Credence’s insides felt like they were made of jelly.

“No,” Mr. Graves said, still smiling. “No, I won’t turn up every time you do. That spell has been exhausted, it has served its purpose. It’s not exactly child’s play to put that kind of spell into motion, and not even I would be skilled enough to make it permanent.”

“But you said it would be easier to find me if I asked you?”

“The other night? Yes. Spells leave a trail, almost like magic residue. In that state, it wasn’t quite so complicated to place a simple tracing spell on you, connected to my name,” Mr. Graves explained. “But I couldn’t do something like that now. And Credence, I wouldn’t want to. That would be invading your privacy. I wouldn’t want that, not ever, not for anything, do you understand?”

Credence nodded slowly. He did understand, in a sense at least. He didn’t know why, but both Mr. Graves and Mr. Scamander and Gertie asked him what he wanted and if they did something they thought he didn’t like, they apologized. Mr. Scamander had apologized over and over when he had asked Credence to stay in the trunk and the storm had ripped Credence apart and dissolved his body into boundless smoke and razor sharp ash, Gertie had apologized for setting the boggart on him and Mr. Graves had already apologized several times for a number of things. He guessed it was all connected somehow to what Mr. Graves had just said.

Joel shifted and placed his head on Mr. Graves’ leg and as Mr. Graves reached down to scratch Joel behind the ear, Credence realized with a pang in his heart, that Mr. Graves hadn’t touched him a single time since his arrival, well apart from carrying him up the stairs, but that didn’t count. The casual touches and the gentle stroke of a thumb across Credence’s bruised and hurt hands, a strong hand on his neck or arm, that kind of touch Mr. Graves had not given him, Credence thought with sadness. He missed feeling the weight of Mr. Graves’ hands on him, he yearned for it, his body ached for it even though he knew Mr. Graves would never touch him the way Credence truly wanted. 

“So, tea?” Mr. Graves said then. “I know how to make that at least,” he added with a small smile and got up from the garden wall.

 

 

Mr. Graves insisted on lighting the fire with magic (“Credence, please, it’s the least I can do,”) and Credence in return, showed him how to scramble eggs and fry sausages, bacon and tomatoes like the morning before. Standing so close to Mr. Graves made Credence feel a little dizzy. When he reached for the salt, he accidentally brushed against Mr. Graves’ hand and it almost felt like he had burned himself, a tingling sensation shooting through his body. He pretended like it had been nothing and he hoped Mr. Graves hadn’t noticed.

“Merlin’s flaming beard,” Mr. Graves muttered as he burned the sausages he was in charge of. Credence couldn’t help the smile.

“What?” Mr. Graves snapped irritably.

“Nothing,” Credence tried to make amends, but Mr. Graves interrupted him, laughing.

“I must be a piss-poor sight now,” he chuckled. “The Director of Magical Security, head of the Magical Law Enforcement and Auror bound to MACUSA, and I can’t even fry a darned sausage the no-maj way,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

“And now you have grease on your face,” Credence said quietly, smiling. What was with him today?

Mr. Grave laughed and tried to wipe it off, only making it worse. Credence laughed and reached for one of the kitchen towels.

“Here,” he said and handed Mr. Graves the towel, their fingers brushing as Mr. Graves took it. Electricity shot through Credence and for a brief moment that seemed to go on forever, he locked eyes with Mr. Graves. Then Mr. Graves looked away and tried to rub off the grease on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said and wouldn’t meet Credence’s eyes again.

“For what?” Credence asked, confused. 

Mr. Graves smiled at him but Credence could tell it wasn’t genuine, because it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Nothing, forget about it.”

Credence nodded and turned to set the table, Mr. Graves had said Gertie always ate in the kitchen. When Credence cast a glance to the stove where Mr. Graves was standing, he noticed the man leaning his forehead against the wall next to the stove, his eyes closed. Mr. Graves sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and forehead again. Credence pretended to be very busy with arranging the cutlery when Mr. Graves looked at him again. Joel nudged his legs like he wanted to tell Credence something.

“Here you go,” Mr. Graves said and tossed Joel one of the sausages from the plate before he set it on the table. Though Joel happily chewed down the greasy meat, Credence had the distinct feeling that wasn’t what Joel had tried to tell him.

“Morning, lads!” Gertie grinned as she popped her head through the door. “Ah, it smells lovely,” she said and seated herself by the table. Credence and Mr. Graves joined her and Joel laid down, resting his head on Credence’s feet.

Esther and Elsa walked into the kitchen just moments later, followed by Mr. Scamander and Joel greeted them by wagging his tail but he wouldn’t leave his place.

“So, Credence,” Elsa said when she had sat down to eat after a round of ‘good morning’-s and ‘did you sleep well’-s. “Gertie promised us we could fly with the dragons today. Would you like to come?” she asked with a big, excited smile on her face. She had this way of talking not only with her voice, but with her hands and face as well. Next to her, opposite Credence, Mr. Graves had gone very still.

“Umh,” Credence began. “How do you mean, ‘flying’?” he asked, feeling a little stupid.

“Well, on brooms of course!” Elsa said, her grin widening. 

“Umh… I… Eh. I don’t….” Credence said quietly, looking at his half-eaten breakfast. “I don’t know how,” he admitted, still looking at his plate. 

“You’ve never been on a broom before?” She rubbed the tip of her nose and then ran her hand through her long hair. Credence had noticed she did that every now and then. Credence only shook his head.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Esther said then. “Our grandfather was a Squib, too,” she added kindly. Credence dropped his fork, his insides twisting.

“He’s not a Squib,” Mr. Graves said then, his voice low and almost menacing.

“Uncle,” Gertie said in that tone she used only for him sometimes.

“He’s not a Squib!” Mr. Graves snapped, turning to his niece beside Credence. Gertie only sighed as Mr. Graves pulled his wand from his pajama pants. He held it out, handle first, to Credence. “Go on,” he said and nodded to the wand. “Go on, Credence, take it. You’re not a Squib.”

Credence looked hesitantly at the wand and then to Mr. Graves before he glanced at Mr. Scamander.

“He’s not on trial, uncle,” Gertie said in a tired voice. “Let it be. They mean only well.”

“Take the wand, Credence,” Mr. Graves said, ignoring her completely.

“Mr. Graves… It’s alright, I don’t…”

“Take it. You’ll see. You’re not a Squib.”

Credence gingerly reached for the wand, feeling Mr. Graves’ eyes burning into him. As his fingers closed around the wand’s handle, a tingling sensation shot through his arm, not unlike the feeling he got from accidentally brushing against Mr. Graves.

“Go on, wave it,” Mr. Graves said and Credence dared a glance at him. Mr. Graves’ features had softened considerably.

Credence hunched his shoulders and gave the wand a flick, sparks shooting everywhere. He let go of the wand with a small yelp. Joel barked happily and reached on his hind legs to lick Credence’s ear. Mr. Graves pocketed his wand again, glaring at Gertie who sighed and shook her head at him.

Elsa looked at her sister next to Credence and said something in that language he didn’t understand. Esther nodded and answered. It sounded almost like they were singing.

“Credence, if you’d like,” Esther said and turned to look at him, “we’d love to teach you how to fly on a broom.”

“Yeah, Esther’s actually really good at flying!” Elsa chimed in.

“I don’t… I don’t want to be any trouble,” Credence said to his cup of tea.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” Esther said.

“It’ll be fun! You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I really think it will be fun,” Elsa said. “We have the last two Boothby-brooms ever sold, you’ll love them!” she added and flashed him a wide smile.

Credence nodded slowly and tried to smile but like Mr. Graves’ before, the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is finished but I need to edit it and maybe run it by my two lovely beta-readers. Should be up soon thoigh!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	7. Defying gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence learns to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay you guys! Loads of things going on in my life, but here it is, finally, the next chapter.
> 
> It's un-betaed, which is always a little scary but I hope you like it anyway!
> 
> Loads of love and sorry again for the long wait!

It was a lovely morning, but though the sun was shining brightly in the sky, it was still cold enough to make Credence’s hands shift to blue as he followed the women to a big, open part of the gardens. It wasn’t just the cold that made him shake a little however, it was also nerves, he realized. What if he couldn’t fly a broom? What if he fell off?

Joel barked happily and trotted alongside him, his presence and joyful demeanor having a calming effect on Credence. The Wilson sisters were walking a little ahead of him, chatting between themselves in their flowing sing-song of a language. They held themselves with a kind of calm confidence that suited them quite nicely and Credence thought they were both very good-looking indeed.

“Are you alright, Credence?” Esther said and looked back at him, pushing her short hair out of her eyes. It was almost the same kind of haircut that Mr. Graves had, except Esther pushed hers to the side and a little forward as opposed to Mr. Graves who usually kept it neatly combed back. She had a rather small, pointy nose and dark blue eyes that glittered of mischief and kindness and intelligence.

“Yeah, don’t be nervous! It’ll be alright!” Elsa said and walked backwards to look at him, her broom slung across her shoulder just like her sister. She had braided her long, dark hair loosely and she shadowed her dark brown eyes with her hand to better look at him. “I think you’ll love it, it’s an absolutely amazing feeling, soaring high above the ground,” she continued, her eyes glittering too, like her sister of intelligence and mischief and kindness but also out of excitement. “Oh, by the way, what colour is Joel to you?”

“Umh… What?” asked Credence, confused.

“What colour is he?”

“Eh… Yellow… He looks like one of those, what do you call them… Golden retrievers?” Credence said hesitantly. 

“Told you!” Elsa said and grinned at her sister.

“What?” Credence asked, still very much confused.

“He changes colour depending on the person,” Esther said. “If he likes someone, he’s usually golden or more white. If he dislikes them, he turns purple.”

“But he was golden the first time I saw him,” Credence mumbled.

“Yeah, but he was very happy then, he loves riding the motorcycle,” Elsa grinned. “He’s also golden when he’s happy. But if he hadn’t liked you, he would have turned purple.”

“And he would never have been cuddling with you that much…” Esther began.

“Or breaking into your room to sleep in your bed,” Elsa chimed in, still grinning.

“Yeah, sorry about that, he’s hopeless sometimes,” Esther said fondly.

“Or wake you up at dawn to go for a walk,” Elsa finished.

“Yeah, sorry about that too,” Esther said but she too, grinned.

“But,” Credence said and looked at Joel as he ran in wide circles around them, barking happily. “I thought he was just a dog?”

“Well, he is,” Esther said and turned to look at him again, walking backwards for a bit. “But um… Let’s just say we had a crazy uncle who liked to invent new potions and spells.”

“Oh,” Credence said, feeling sad for the dog.

“Don’t worry,” Esther said reassuringly. “He never hurt animals. He always tried his inventions on himself first.”

“Yep,” Elsa agreed. “He’s always green now, by the way,” she added and the sisters snickered between themselves.

“This should do,” Esther said then and lifted her broom off her shoulder. “Alright, so. First things first,” she said and put the broom on the ground. Elsa followed suit. “Get the broom in your hand. Step up to Elsa’s broom here, just like that. Hold out your hand above it and say ‘up!’,” she instructed and when she said ‘up!’ her broom zoomed up to her hand instantly.

Credence held out a trembling hand above the broom. He felt so silly, and a million mean thoughts whispered to him why this would never work, that he was useless and he was just wasting everybody’s time.

“Up,” he said in a shaky voice. The broom didn’t move.

“Don’t worry, no one gets it right the first time,” Elsa said reassuringly and smiled kindly at him.

“Up,” Credence said again but still, nothing happened.

“I don’t think I’m magical enough...” he tried but Esther immediately interrupted him.

“Nonsense,” she smiled. “Just an hour ago you held a wand belonging to one of the most powerful men in all of America, and you made it shoot golden sparks. Credence, you are definitely magical enough for a Boothby-broom!”

“Yeah, go on, Credence!” Elsa said, cheering him on. “Don’t ask it, tell it,” she added when he held out his hand over the broom again.

Credence tried his best to tell the broom and not ask it but it only made it shake slightly.

“May I?” Mr. Graves’ low baritone said then and sent shivers down his spine.

Credence glanced behind him to find Mr. Graves walking towards them. He had exchanged his pajamas for his regular suit but instead of the long black coat, he wore a knitted sweater.

“Um, sure,” Credence said, not really certain what Mr. Graves was asking. As Mr. Graves stepped up close behind Credence, he both regretted saying yes and reveled in the warmth and proximity of the man. Mr. Graves placed a reassuring hand on his left shoulder and grabbed hold of his right wrist. 

“Now,” Mr. Graves said so close to Credence’s ear, the man’s breath tickled him a little. “Tell the broom to go up. Demand it to. You’re in charge.”

Credence didn’t feel at all in charge. He felt like his insides were made of jelly and like his heart was beating so hard it might actually break his ribs.

“It’s just a stick, Credence,” Mr. Graves murmured. “Nothing more. It’s an over glorified stick. Tell it to move.”

Credence closed his eyes and relaxed into Mr. Grave’s hands and leaned back against his chest. It really was just a silly stick, Credence though. He could command a stick. He had commanded a stick, Esther had just reminded him of that. He drew in a breath through his nose and the spicy smell of Mr. Graves made his head spin in all the good ways.

“Up!” Credence said and almost staggered back when he felt the wood hit his hand. “I did it, Mr. Graves! I did it!” he laughed.

“Well done,” Mr. Graves smiled and let go of Credence.

“Great job!” Elsa said and hugged Credence.

“Alright. Now, hold on tight and fling your leg over it,” Esther said and mounted her broom. “Yeah, just like that. Kick away from the ground, and you’ll rise a bit. Then try to hold it in place for a little while, then you lean forward and go back down, alright?”

Credence swallowed hard but nodded.

“Ready?”

Credence nodded again though he sure didn’t feel ready.

“One, two, three!” Esther said and kicked off from the ground. Credence kicked off too but felt like he left his insides on the ground as the broom rose from it.

He wasn’t more than a few feet away from his shoes touching the ground but still, it felt like the grass was miles below him.

“There you go!” Elsa shouted and clapped her hands.

“Tilt your broom a little upwards to make it go higher,” Esther smiled at him.

Credence nodded and did what she told him.

“Oh,” he yelped as the broom rose a little higher.

“Don’t worry, I’m right here,” Esther said and turned in a small semi-circle to fly next to him. “Tilt it a little higher. There you go, just like that!”

Credence rose even higher and when he looked down now, his feet were well above Mr. Graves’ head.

“Now, lean forward a little, just like that, and you’ll go down, slowly, slowly, there you are, Credence,” Esther instructed with a kind and reassuring voice.

When his feet finally touched ground again, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

“Well done, Credence!” Esther grinned when she landed and patted him on the back. “Really well done! You want to try again?”

“No,” Credence said with a small smile that made Esther laugh.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Tiny steps, one at a time,” she smiled.

“No, it’s alright. I want to try again,” he said and shook his dark hair out of his eyes. It was longer now, wilder, uncontrolled and curling at the ends.  
“Alright. You know what to do,” Esther smiled and kicked off from the ground and Credence followed her.

“Now, we’re gonna fly in big, slow circle. Just follow me. Ready?”

“I don’t know how to…” he said but when Esther flew in front of him, he felt the broom vibrate under his hands. Esther started moving slowly and Credence leaned forward a little, but not in the same way as when he wanted to go down. His broom began to slowly follow Esther and Credence laughed triumphantly.

They flew in a wide circle, high above Mr. Graves and Elsa. It was like nothing Credence had ever felt in his entire life. It was a freedom he never knew from the storm. The storm only swirled and raged and destroyed, but this, this was true freedom. A part of him wanted to raise his arms in the air but he didn’t.

“Want to try and go a little faster?” Esther called to him and Credence nodded. “Alright, here we go!” she said and zoomed away considerably much faster this time.

Credence laughed as his broom zoomed away after Esther, wind whipping his hair everywhere. 

When Esther began descending, a part of Credence wanted to stay airborne and never ever go back down, but he leaned forward and zoomed towards the ground, slowing as he went. When he landed and clumsily got off the broom, he realized he was shaking from all the excitement. 

Elsa ran towards him, clapping her hands again. She threw herself around his neck and hugged him tight. 

“Well done, Credence! You were great!”

Credence felt color rise in his cheeks but he smiled at her. 

“Thank you,” he said and held out the broom to her. “And thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“Of course! Anytime!” she smiled, her brown eyes glittering. 

“Good job!” Esther said and gave his back a good pat. “Come on, let's go fly with some baby dragons!” she grinned and Credence nodded, grinning back. 

As they walked back the castle, the sisters chatted away excitedly between themselves and he found himself walking beside Mr. Graves. 

“Thank you,” Credence said after a while. 

“Glad I could help,” Mr. Graves answered but his smile didn't reach his eyes this time either. Somehow, Credence had a feeling it was his fault. 

“Your hands are blue,” Mr. Graves said then as they reached the herbaries and Credence glanced down. He hadn't even noticed, he was used to always being cold. 

“Come here,” Mr. Graves said and took both of Credence’s hands between his and Credence felt like his heart had stopped working. 

Mr. Graves leaned forward and blew softly on Credence’s cold hands, whispering words Credence had never heard and he felt warmth creeping back into his fingers and joints. He never wanted this to end. He closed his eyes and forced himself to try and breathe normally as Mr. Graves blew warmth over his hands again, sending a new wave of tingles down Credence's spine. 

“Better?” Mr. Graves said when he straightened again. Credence could only nod.

Credence wanted nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips against Mr. Graves’ stern mouth, but he knew he couldn’t possibly. Afraid Mr. Graves might see what was going through his mind, Credence wanted to cast his eyes down, but he couldn’t break away from Mr. Grave’s dark brown eyes. He felt like his lungs had forgotten how to breathe.

“Don’t,” Mr. Graves said, his voice low and hoarse as he brushed a thumb across Credence’s lower lip, forcing him to stop worrying it with his teeth.

Credence forced himself not to lean into the touch of Mr. Grave’s warm hand against his cheek but when Mr. Graves quickly withdrew his hand like he had been burned, it took every ounce of self-control Credence had not to move forward.

“Credence, are you coming?” Elsa called for him from the kitchen door and it felt like waking from a dream.

“Yes,” he answered hoarsely but didn’t look away from Mr. Graves. The man had closed his eyes, his chest heaving like he had been running. He was breathing through his nose, his jaw tensed. He nodded and waved his hand in the air, dismissing Credence.

When he reached the door, Credence couldn’t help but turning to cast one last glance on Mr. Graves sitting on the garden wall with his back to Credence, leaning his head in his hands.

 

 

Flying with dragons was even better than just flying out in the open. For a good hour he and Elsa and Esther took turns with the brooms, zooming around the vast cave, the baby dragons flying around them, weaving in and out of sight. Gertie had her own broom of course and raced the dragons every chance she got. The dragons always won and when they reached a certain goal before Gertie, she made sure to summon some meat chunks from the bucket she had brought. Credence laughed heartily with the sisters and Gertie. Even Mr. Scamander gave his half-smile as one of the dragons flew in tighter circles around the magizoologist. Joel ran around on the ground, barking happily as always. 

Of course, Credence didn’t fly as good as any of the others, the baby dragons included. The flapped their wings and twirled around him, flying ahead and then doubling back, squealing as they zoomed past him. Credence couldn’t remember laughing so much, and when they finally landed and gave the dragons the last of the meat, his stomach was hurting from laughing.

“Gertie,” Credence said as they were walking up the stairs again. “Don’t they get lonely down there all by themselves?”

“No,” Gertie laughed. “They’re better off down there. Ye see, they already know how to breathe fire. I don’t know if ye noticed, but here and there, bits o’ the walls and floor are turning black with soot. Down there they can roam freely and be more like dragons, up in the house, we’d have ter babysit them all the time. I make the cave a little bigger every time I’m down there,” she added with a smile. “And when they get old enough, we’ll move them up into the garden.”

“Do you think they miss their mother?” Credence asked when they went into the kitchen to wash off soot, dust, meat and blood from their hands.

“Yeah, maybe a little? But they’ve already adopted us as their family now. And we’ll do for a while, but as soon as they’re ready, I’ll put them back where they belong.”

“In Hungary?” Credence asked a little surprised.

“Yeah,” Gertie smiled and tossed him a towel. “Where else? They’re not pets. They’re wild beasts. They belong in freedom, not captivity. No beast does,” she added and Credence thought her green eyes shadowed a little.

“What if anyone tries to kill them?”

“Well, sadly, there isn’t much I can do about that. Well, I can train them as good as possible to help them survive, but I can’t hold their talons the rest of their lives. It just… It doesn’t work that way,” she finished, turning away from Credence.

“How do you mean, ‘train them’?”

“Like I said, they’ve adopted us all as their mothers. So. We’ll have ter teach them things a mother dragon would. The most basic, of course to hunt for food and how to fend for themselves, defend themselves against enemies and those who would do them harm.” She leaned against the sink and looked at him for a while.

“Later in the spring, I’m ter hold classes for a week at Hogwarts, I’ll bring them with me then ter talk about how I work with them and what I do and what ye shouldn’t ever do. Things like that. Ter teach them that dragons are beautiful and wondrous creatures to respect and love instead of fearing and killing them.”

“Oh,” Credence said, not quite sure of what to think. Mr. Scamander hadn’t told him much about Hogwarts, all he knew was that it was a school for witches and wizard and that Queenie and Mr. Scamander sometimes bickered over which school was the best. Mr. Scamander always said Hogwarts.

“Would ye like ter come?” Gertie asked, her face serious and her green eyes glittering.

“Umh… I… I’m not…” Credence tried but looked to the floor, at a loss for words.

“If you and Newt have the time, ye’d be more than welcome anyways,” she smiled. “They usually let me stay in the Groundkeeper’s hut when I come to teach. It’s not big, but I’m sure some extra beds can be conjured up,” she added.

“I’ll ask Mr. Scamander,” Credence said and reached for the carrots to peel them.

“Why don’t ye call him Newt?” Gertie asked without taking her eyes off him.

“Umh…” Credence mumbled, staring at the carrots. “It just… Doesn’t feel right to call him ‘Newt’,” he explained, his ears going pink, his shoulders hunching a little.

“Why? Isn’t he your friend?” Gertie asked then and started peeling carrots too. Credence noticed she didn’t use her wand though it surely would have been quicker for her.

“I… I don’t know… I just…” Credence trailed off.

“He doesn’t have a lot of friends,” Gertie mused. “He annoys people. He annoys the living shite out o’ me sometimes, truth be told,” she chuckled. “But I really don’t think he’d mind. I think he’s grown rather fond of ye.” 

Credence didn’t know what to say to that but he returned Gertie’s smile and felt a warmth spread in his heart.

 

 

When they were almost done with lunch, a spicy stew with potatoes and all sorts of vegetables, there was a loud tap at the window.

“Heidi!” Esther said, her mouth full of stew.

Credence looked about him to see what she meant, and at one of the big kitchen windows, there was an owl tapping its beak against the pane. He still hadn’t quite gotten used to seeing owls like that, but he really liked it.

“Is it from him?” Elsa grinned, her eyes glittering mischievously as Esther rushed to let the owl in and read the letter. “Esther has a beau,” she whispered conspiratorially to Credence, sitting beside her.

“Yes it is,” Esther sighed and sat down with the letter. She was all giddy and excited, her smile widened the more she read. When she had finished, she read it again. Credence thought she looked ready to burst with all the happiness inside of her and he smiled. He was glad for Esther.

He glanced to Mr. Graves who hadn’t looked at him once since earlier that morning. He was sitting at the end of the table, reading a book and occasionally lifting the spoon to his mouth. Credence guessed his stew must be cold by now.

Esther looked up from the letter to find Elsa and Gertie grinning at her. She laughed and buried her face in her hands, turning a little red.

“It’s just…” she laughed from behind her hands. “Ah, I don’t know! It’s just…” but she finished with a squealing sound instead of words. Credence understood exactly.

“Is he coming here?” he asked, smiling.

“No,” she said, still grinning widely.

“She still thinks it’s a little early to introduce him to anyone. Not even I have met him!” Elsa explained. “They’ve only been seeing each other for a _month_ ,” she added, her eyebrows raised and Credence laughed.

“He got back yesterday,” Esther told Elsa and read the letter again.

Credence smiled, it was impossible not to be affected by the swirling tornado of happiness that was radiating off Esther.

 

 

Joel barked, but Credence realized for the first time since he’d met the dog two days ago, it wasn’t a happy bark. He knelt on the cold ground to hug the dog and Joel tried to lick his face wherever he could reach. Credence wasn’t sure, but he thought Joel’s fur was a little darker, shifting at the tips to another color. Except for Mr. Graves, they were all standing in the gardens, saying goodbye to the sisters. The sun was setting beyond the mountains, casting a beautiful orange glow over all of them. Elsa was hugging Gertie really hard and Esther finished packing the motorcycle.

“It was really nice to meet you, Credence,” Elsa said then and he got up to hug her as well. She hugged him like she never wanted to let him go. “Please write, I’d love to hear from you,” Elsa said in his ear and he nodded. She gave him one final squeeze before she let go and hugged Mr. Scamander next.

“Goodbye, Credence,” Esther said and before she hugged him tight, he noticed her eyes were all shiny and wet.

“Thank you for teaching me how to fly,” he said quietly and Esther hugged him tighter.

“Of course,” she said. “Anytime. Really, anytime, come visit us and we’ll fly some more,” she said with a small sob.

When she let go of him to hug Mr. Scamander, Joel nudged Credence’s leg and whined.

“I’ll miss you too, Joel,” he said and knelt again, hugging the dog close.

The motorcycle sputtered to life and Elsa called for Joel who gave Credence one final lick before lumbering over to take his seat in the sidecar. Esther turned the motorcycle about and they were off down the road. Credence waved though he knew they couldn’t see it.

“Credence,” Mr. Scamander said when the motorcycle was nothing more than a small black speck in a cloud of dust, “would you like to help me with the graphorns?”

Credence nodded and followed Mr. Scamander to the kitchen where the magizoologist had left his bag.

“Mr. Scamander?” Credence asked as the man opened his case.

“Yes, Credence?” Mr. Scamander said and looked at him, but without meeting his eyes.

“I’m gonna… Try and start calling you ‘Newt’ now. If that’s okay?” he added and glanced at the magizoologist.

“Yes, that’s all right, Credence,” Newt answered and Credence noticed the man’s half-smile playing in the corners of his mouth.


	8. The Dining Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Gertie shows Credence the Dining Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking back, this is actually one of my favourite chapters so it makes me extra nervous to put it out there. It's un-betaed to make matters even more nervous.
> 
> I hope you like it!
> 
> Loads of love

Credence walked up the stairs to the guestroom he was staying in. It felt a little odd not having Joel skipping happily around him. For two mornings, he had been awoken at dawn by Joel but Credence realized he would really miss it when he woke up tomorrow. 

They had been at Gertie’s four days already. Soon they'd be leaving, Credence realized with a pang in his heart.

When he reached Mr. Graves’ door, he couldn't help but stopping. He had hardly seen Mr Graves at all after yesterday morning and today he hadn't even been down for dinner or to say goodbye to the sisters.

The door was ajar, Credence realized, and he heard someone sobbing behind it. 

“I can't do this,” he heard Mr. Graves say to someone. “I thought I could but I can't.”

“Ye promised ye’d stay for a week,” Gertie’s answered in a low voice. 

“I know, but…” Mr. Graves drew a shuddering breath. “The way he looks at me, the way he goes stiff like a plank whenever I touch him… Gertie, I can't do it.”

Credence knew he shouldn't eavesdrop but he simply couldn't make himself walk down the hall to his room. 

“Stop being such a self-righteous bastard,” he heard Gertie snap then. 

“You don't understand!” Mr. Graves retorted. “How could I ever ask him to trust me again?”

“So what, that's it, is it? He doesn't get a shot at happiness because ye’re afraid of heartbreak?”

“Gertie…”

“What's yer brilliant plan then? Go get yer heart crushed by Theseus Scamander instead? Yeah, that’s a great plan uncle, absolutely fantastic.”

“Gertie, please.”

“Ye know what, off ye go then. Go on. But don't expect me to pick up the pieces when he's done toying with you!” she snapped and Credence realized she'd barge through the door any second.

Credence quickly snuck down the hallway and had just slid through his door when he heard Gertie slam Mr. Graves’ door and stomp down the stairs. 

Credence sat down on his bed. He wasn't really sure what he had heard. Was Mr. Graves leaving to go see Newt’s brother? Credence felt so silly and stupid but he couldn't help the tears that welled up in his eyes and he curled up in the bed, sobbing quietly until he fell asleep on top of the covers, still wearing his clothes and shoes. 

 

 

A soft knock on the door at dawn woke him up. Credence felt like he had barely slept at all. 

“Yes?” he croaked and Gertie popped her head in. 

“I'm sorry ter wake ye, but I was wondering if maybe I could convince ye ter keep me company in the kitchen? Truth be told, I can't sleep and I don't really fancy being alone,” she smiled and her eyes ran over him quickly, taking in the clothes and the shoes, but she didn't say anything about it.

“Yeah, sure,” Credence said and discreetly tried to wipe away drool from his cheek. “I'll eh… I'll be right down,” he said and tried to smile but managed barely more than a grimace. 

“Grand!” Gertie said and disappeared. 

 

 

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he had to stop and take a deep breath, drawing in the delicious smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen. 

“There ye are!” Gertie said with her back to him as he entered the kitchen. “Cocoa?”

“Uh, yes, yes please,” Credence stuttered, feeling a little at a loss at what he could do to help. Trays of buns and loaves and even some pastries were levitating everywhere in the kitchen, either awaiting their turn in the oven or simply cooling off. A milk bottle and two tin jars rose into the air and poured some of their contents out. The ready cocoa landed neatly and steaming in a large cup that floated towards him. Before it reached him, cream whipped itself mid-air and landed in a perfect swirl in his cup.

“Thank you,” Credence said and sipped the hot, sweet drink. 

“Danish?” Gertie asked and put a large plate stacked with pastries on the table. She sat down and a large cup of cocoa wobbled toward her. She took the largest pastry in the pile and took a big bite. Credence took one and nibbled it.

“Oh,” he said. “Jakob makes these too!” he smiled and took another, bigger, bite. Gertie was already on her second helping. “Though, his looks different,” Credence explained.

“He’s the muggle that helped Newt, right?”

“Mhm,” Credence nodded between the bites. As soon as he had finished the danish, Gertie tossed him another. 

“So,” she said while biting into her third pastry. “About yer Obscurus.”

Credence swallowed hard but nodded.

“I told ye about me theory, right?”

“Umh, yes,” Credence lied, not wanting to seem ungrateful. She hadn’t really told him much, and what she had said had hardly made sense. It had been Mr. Graves who explained Gertie’s theory more. “Fear stirs it, revenge makes it… lash out,” he finished, looking down at his cup of hot cocoa.

“Yes, quite. Now. It’s just a theory, I need to do research, find out more. When we know what triggers it, we can start working on how to get it out or how to counter it at least. Ye see, I can’t just go on and base everything I do from this point onwards, on a loose theory, because that kind of recklessness might get ye killed, Credence. And I wouldn’t want that,” she smiled.

“But. I’ve been thinking. We should try and figure out what ye’re afraid of, anything and everything that makes ye scared, alright?”

Credence nodded and nibbled his pastry.

“And then we’ll make sure ye’re in a safe space and then ye face everything ye’re afraid of, tick ‘em off, one by one. Now, I’ll be there with ye, all the way if ye want. I won’t leave yer side. Ye won’t have ter face anything alone.”

She grabbed both his hands in her tattooed ones. 

“But if ye don’t want ter face any of it, ye don’t have to. I’ll figure out something else then.”

“No,” Credence said. “No, it’s okay. I mean… I know it will be scary and I’ll probably not like it very much… But. I want to do it, if it will help you and Newt to figure out how to… Get it out of me,” he finished and Gertie squeezed his hands.

“Gertie,” Credence said then and looked her straight in the eyes. “Do you think you’ll be able to get it out at all?” he asked, his voice small and shaking but he wouldn’t break away from her eyes.

“I honestly don’t know yet,” she said. “But I will do my absolute best, so will Newt. And I’ll continue my research even when ye’ve left for Iceland, and I’ll write ye if ye’d like, Credence,” she added and squeezed his hands again.

“Why did Newt ask you to help him? I don’t mean any offense, but you’re a dragon trainer…” he trailed off. Gertie only chuckled but before she could answer, the kitchen door opened to reveal Mr. Graves.

Credence quickly looked down at his half-eaten danish, but he had noticed Mr. Graves was wearing his pajamas and Credence’s heart surged when he realized Mr. Graves probably wasn’t going anywhere until after breakfast at least.

“Good morning Gertie, Credence,” Mr. Graves said in a raspy voice like he had just woken up. He didn’t look at Credence once as he sat down a two chairs away from Gertie, on the opposite side of the table from Credence.

“Good morning Mr. Graves,” Credence said quietly, sipping his hot cocoa. Gertie didn’t say anything, she stuffed her mouth with a third helping of danish and got up from the table, turning her back on both of them occupying herself with the oven.

“You’ve got a little cream on your…” Mr. Graves said then and Credence glanced up at him, feeling his ears go pink.

“Oh,” he said and tried to wipe it off, getting cream all over his fingers.

“No, here, just…” Mr. Graves said irritably and handed him a napkin.

Credence wiped himself clean, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he said quietly but Mr. Graves was leaning his head in his hands again.

“I’m sorry, I can’t…” he said and got up from the table and headed out into the gardens. Credence looked down at his plate again. He had lost his appetite.

“Don’t ye pay him no heed, Credence,” Gertie said angrily from the stove. “He’s a grumpy old bastard and ye shouldn’t listen to a bloody thing he says.”

She came back to the table and sat down opposite Credence.

“And ye shouldn’t let him trample all over ye like that with his moping. Ye should go an’ tell him ter stick his self-righteous pity act up his arse,” she muttered and glared out the window after her uncle. “Now, Credence, I’m sorry ter leave ye, but I’m gonna go and break some china in the dining hall, alright?” she said and got up from the table again. Though Credence could tell she wasn’t angry with him, he still felt like it was his fault somehow.

“I wrote ter Newt. It wasn’t him that asked me ter help,” she said, sticking her head back into the kitchen. “It was that grumpy old fecker smoking his lungs to shite in the gardens that begged me to. He asked me ter help, not Newt,” she finished and stomped off in the direction of the dining hall.

She had barely left when Mr. Graves returned, smelling of smoke and cold.

“Where’s Gertie?” he asked in a tired voice.

“Um… In the dining hall I think,” Credence told his cup of lukewarm cocoa.

“Ah,” Mr. Graves said and sat down with a heavy sigh. Silence stretched between them and Credence wished he knew what to say.

A part of him, of course, was angry and snarling because Mr. Graves was treating him so unfairly. What had he even done to deserve the man’s disapproval? He felt himself beginning to tremble ever so slightly.

_No. He wouldn’t let the storm out. Not this time._

“Excuse me,” Credence said and got up from the table. Mr. Graves didn’t answer.

Credence hadn’t really been in the dining hall before but it was easy enough to find, following the sound of breaking china and Gertie’s angry shouts.

Gertie didn't say anything, she just handed him a soup tureen she had been holding. At first, he felt a little awkward holding it and for a brief moment the look on Mary Lou’s face had she been there to see the destruction and waste, popped into Credence’s mind. Something in him snarled at the thought of the woman. 

_No. She didn't get to decide over him anymore._

With all his might and something like a roar, Credence hurled the tureen across the room, making it shatter against the opposite wall. 

It was an exhilarating, liberating feeling. The vast table had been set like they were about to host a fine dinner for at least twenty people. Gertie had managed to smash a lot of the tableware already. 

Credence grabbed anything he could find and threw it across the room or smashed it against the tabletop. 

After a while, both he and Gertie were panting like they had been running. Credence leaned against the table, Gertie sat backwards on a chair. 

“I'm gonna go down and get me uncle now. And I'm gonna bring him back here and tell him to smash his moping and self-pity away,” she said and got up. “You're welcome to stay but in case you don't want to, I thought it would be fair to give you the chance to get away,” she added and went out the door. 

She must have Apparated to take Mr. Graves by surprise because Credence had barely moved when he heard them shouting outside the door. 

“He deserves better!” Gertie's voice barked and then Mr. Graves was pushed through the door. Gertie didn't follow him.

Credence didn't know what to say, but the sight of Mr. Graves only stirred the storm inside of him so he turned away from the gorgeous man and grabbed the first thing he could find and hurled across the room. 

Mr. Graves came to the table and picked up a small cup, weighing it in his hand before he flung it across the room.

Credence glanced at him but Mr. Graves was only looking at the table. 

Credence picked up a plate and smashed it against the tabletop. 

Mr. Graves hurled a teapot across the table and Credence watched it shatter on the floor. 

Credence crushed a cup with his fist. 

Mr. Graves flung another tureen into the wall opposite with an angry roar. 

Credence bore his fist down on another cup. 

Mr. Graves was bellowing at the top of his lungs, hurling anything he could find across the room. When everything in his near vicinity lay shattered all over the room, he slammed his fist down on the table and leaned against the tabletop, breathing heavily. 

Credence shook his hair out of his eyes and forced himself to not glance at Mr. Graves again. 

“You're bleeding,” Mr. Graves said then, his voice low and hoarse.

Credence looked at his hands. He hadn't even noticed but as he looked down, he realized Mr. Graves was right. 

“Here, let me,” Mr. Graves murmured and caught Credence’s hands in his. 

As Mr. Graves drew his thumb over Credence’s hands, the cuts healed instantly and the blood disappeared. 

“Why are you so angry at me, Mr. Graves?” Credence asked quietly and Mr. Graves’ thumb halted briefly.

“I’m not angry with you, Credence,” Mr. Graves sighed. “I'm sorry I've been treating you badly these past days,” Mr. Graves continued, his eyes not meeting Credence’s. “There is really no excuse, and I don't expect you to forgive me. But I am truly sorry and I want you to know that you have done nothing wrong, Credence, do you hear? You did nothing wrong. This is my fault.”

In the aftermath of his angry destruction spree, Credence stood straight, shoulders back and as he looked at Mr. Graves, the man’s head slightly bowed over Credence’s hands, Credence realized he was actually taller than Mr. Graves. Not by much, but he was taller. He had never noticed before.

Mr. Graves straightened and Credence found himself staring into those mesmerizing brown eyes again.

“I’m going back to New York today. If you want, Credence, I’ll leave right away and I promise you, you will never be bothered by me again,” he said and with a small skip of his heart, Credence realized Mr. Graves was still holding his hands.

“You said you’d stay a week,” Credence said quietly.

“Yes, I know, but…”

Credence didn’t listen to the rest of it.

_To hell with it all if Mr. Graves was leaving anyway._

He wasn’t sure where his sudden courage came from, but before he had time to second-guess his decision, he leaned in and pressed his lips against Mr. Graves’ stern mouth.

After what felt like an eternity and barely the blink of an eye at the same time, Mr. Graves took half a staggering step backwards and looked at Credence in stunned silence.

Credence cast his eyes down, ears going pink out of embarrassment and he figured Mr. Graves was probably only still holding his hands out of shock.

When Mr. Graves released his grip, Credence just wanted to run from the room. But then Mr. Graves warm hands caught his face and Mr. Graves pulled him close, kissing him deeply and with a fierceness Credence had never even dared to dream about.

Mr. Graves’ hands slid down Credence’s chest to rest at his hips and Credence felt like his insides turned to jelly.

Credence let his hands run over Mr. Graves’ pajama shirt, over his broad chest and around his neck until they tangled in Mr. Grave’s tousled hair.

Mr. Graves groaned, a deep growl that resonated within Credence’s very soul. Mr. Graves pulled him even closer, impossibly close so Credence could feel all of his body pressed against his own.

“I’m sorry to… eh… disturb,” Newt said from the door then and cleared his throat. Mr. Graves whipped around to glare at the man, unsuccessfully trying to shield Credence behind him.

“Gertie wanted to know whether or not you had come to your senses yet, Mr. Graves,” Newt said quietly, not really looking anyone in the eyes but staring from under his fringe of unruly ginger hair. “I’ll tell her you have then,” he concluded and made to turn to the door again.

“Oh, and Credence. She wanted to ask you something about a list but,” he added with a moment’s hesitation. Credence thought he could detect some of the man’s half-smile. “She can wait, I’m sure,” he finished and went out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To compensate for not posting for so long, I'm trying to edit through a few chapters that I've had on my computer for a while. They're all un-betaed and I've probably missed some of the spelling and grammar mistakes but just bear with me.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to post another one tomorrow.


	9. Field research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence assists Gertie in conducting field research to find out more about the Obscurus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an evening off and couldn't help but try and finish editing it. So here we go!

Credence felt his grip on the ledge slipping. Deep down below him was nothing but sharp rocks and a wild sea, whipping salty spray halfway up the cliffside. 

Inside him, the storm was raging, making him tremble and feel like he was dissolving at the edges. But the storm didn't rip him to shreds. 

Then he felt Gertie's strong hands grip his wrists and with a roar she helped pull him back, up on the ledge. 

“Thank you,” Credence panted as he lay on all fours, trying to regain control of himself again but he was trembling, the storm hadn't settled yet. 

“Ye’re welcome,” she said and straightened. As soon as Credence had gotten up though, she gave him a hard shove in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards off the cliff. 

Credence didn't have time to think. He hadn't fallen very far when the storm snarled in him and ripped him to pieces, and sent a swirling mass of razor sharp ash up the cliff to crush Gertie, but she was gone. 

“Sorry!” she shouted from another ledge jutting out farther below. “But I had to try!”

She wasn't really sorry though, Credence knew. She was sorry for putting him through his fears one by one, but she wasn't really sorry for pushing him off the cliff. 

Somehow the image of her mischievous grin made laughter bubble up inside him and the storm died down unusually quickly.

“It's alright,” he said as he scrambled to his feet, having returned to shape of his real body. 

Gertie Apparated back in front of him and waved her wand once, making the cliff and the sea disappear. They were in Newt’s case, in the compartment he had made just for Credence. Three days ago, after Credence had gone to help Gertie with the list of things that frightened him, Newt, Gertie and even Mr. Graves had spent the rest of the day reinforcing the compartment and put numerous, advanced spells on it to make it easier to transform it into whatever they might need. The past three days, Gertie had made him live through all sorts of horrors to test her theory. Newt had been there every time. Mr. Graves had not, however and Credence had feeling it was because Gertie had told him not to. 

In the past few days Credence had been through everything from giant spiders to almost drowning to being buried alive. Mr. Graves had yelled at Gertie and Newt for a good hour when he had found out about the near-drowning. Newt hadn’t been too happy about it either; Gertie had refused to tell him the things Credence had listed. Credence had begged Gertie not to make him face the boggart again though, and she had agreed without even blinking. 

Mr. Graves hadn’t really said much after Newt had interrupted their kiss. He had stayed at Gertie's but he'd kept his nose buried in different books but it wasn't like it had been before. There was a warmth in the way he looked at Credence now but they hadn't kissed since the other day in the dining hall. They hadn’t even talked about it because whenever they were alone for too long, Newt seemed to turn up by sheer coincidence and pure chance. Credence had the distinct feeling “coincidence” had nothing to do with it though. 

“That wasn't very nice of you,” Newt said quietly to Gertie. 

“No, that was the point,” she said and grinned at Credence. 

“Here,” she said and passed him a danish with chocolate filling. For some reason, she always made him eat something sweet whenever he had faced something horrible.

“Come on,” she said and grabbed hold of him, Apparating them both into the kitchen.

Mr. Graves was sitting at the kitchen table, with a newspaper spread out in front of him. He did not look happy when Gertie grinned at him. 

“Alright. Would ye like some tea?” she asked Credence and reached for her wand.

“I don’t mind making it,” he said and grabbed the kettle.

“What did you make him do today?” Mr. Graves said through gritted teeth and folded the newspaper. 

“Oh, I pushed him off a cliff,” Gertie said in a light voice, turning to wink her eye at Credence. 

“You what?” Mr. Graves snarled.

“It was alright, if his Obscurus hadn’t turned up, I would have caught him of course. Ye can yell later, uncle, I don’t have time now.” 

Mr. Graves looked like he would indeed yell later but for now he seemed to settle for just scowling at Gertie. Credence busied himself with the teapot to hide his grin. He understood now what Gertie meant when she had said he was adorable when he was angry. 

Newt Apparated into the kitchen then and grabbing a pastry from a platter on the counter, he then went to sit at the table. Gertie started pacing about the room, conjuring up the big tome Credence had seen her with on the first evening, her notebooks and a quill and a bottle of ink.

“The Obscurus has manifested fully six times in the past three days,” she muttered and the quill scribbled it down mid-air. “Each and every single one of those times, it was in direct response to something that was done to Credence. It reacted in anger and with a need for a revenge. Combined with the reaction from meeting the boggart and previous incidents, it does indeed seem like revenge is the what makes it manifest and attack. Fear stirs it, of that I am absolutely sure, but revenge makes it manifest. Newt?”

“It’s a sound theory. Though, I’m not overly fond of your methods of research,” the magizoologist said quietly.

“Me neither,” Mr. Graves muttered.

“Oh, stop it ye two,” Gertie said in a tired voice. “If we don’t do proper research, we might end up killing him in our attempts to get the Obscurus out,” she said and continued to pace about the room.

“Or you might end up drowning him!” Mr. Graves snapped then.

“Uncle, please,” Gertie retorted. “Ye think I would ever do anything to put him in real danger?”

“Honestly, I’m not so sure!” Mr. Graves muttered. “He’s not one of your dragons!”

“And he’s not a fragile little thing that needs protection!” she snapped.

Credence sighed. He really hated it when they talked about him like he wasn’t even there. There had been a lot of that the past few days whenever Mr. Graves had started yelling at Gertie. Credence’s fingers tightened their grip on the beautiful, floral teapot.

“Gertie, I really don’t think,” Newt began but Gertie quickly rounded on him.

“Oh, come now, Scamander! As the muggles’ say, ye’re not exactly a saint yereself!”

Credence wanted them to stop. That was the only thought going through his head. Anger was rising in him, but not the storming anger that ripped him apart, but the same kind of anger he had felt on the first night when he had been eavesdropping by the kitchen door.

“Please, stop,” he said quietly but no one heard him since Gertie and Mr. Graves were shouting at each other, occasionally turning on Newt if he tried to interject something.

The teapot Credence was holding, absolutely shattered then and the kitchen fell eerily quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Credence began and tried to gather all the pieces but Mr. Graves quickly murmured “ _Reparo!_ ” and the teapot reassembled seamlessly like nothing had happened.

“Angry and afraid,” Gertie mumbled and just stared at Credence. “Newt, when was the first sign of your magic?” she asked, not taking her eyes from Credence.

“I’m not sure, six or seven maybe.”

“What caused it?”

“Theseus was chasing me, and he threatened to lock me in the attic when he caught me,” Newt said, not looking at Gertie exactly, only facing her way but not really seeing her. “I ended up in the living-room with no idea how I got there.”

“Were you angry or afraid?”

“I… Yes. Both, I think.”

“Perce?”

“What?”

“Magical powers. First sign,” Gertie said, still only looking at Credence, and taking a step closer to him.

“I was five,” Mr. Graves said and his neatly trimmed eyebrows furrowed. “Father was about to take to the cane when it turned into a snake,” he finished.

“Angry,” Gertie stated.

“Yes. Mostly,” Mr. Graves said with a sigh.

“Revenge.” Gertie’s eyes were glittering now as she reached for the teapot Credence was holding again.

“Gertie, what are you getting at?” Mr. Graves said and ran a hand through his back-combed hair.

“I was seven and Ma had just told me Uncle perce wasn’t coming for Christmas. The Christmas pudding Ma was making, caught on fire.”

“Anger?” Mr. Graves asked with a bemused smile.

“Oh yes,” Gertie grinned. “Credence, have ye made anything else explode lately? Or has anything strange happened to ye?”

“No,” he said and shook his head. He wasn’t really sure what Gertie was grinning for.

“I bet ye, the first time ye made something like that happen ye were beaten to an inch from death, weren’t ye?”

Credence only nodded. It was a memory long since faded, like the memory of a dream.

“And when the Obscurus - storm don’t ye call it, Credence? When that started swirling in ye, I bet ye somehow the strange things stopped happening after a while, right?”

Credence nodded again, and looked at his feet, cowering slightly.

“Ye know how wizard children first show their powers? No? Well, when we’re afraid or angry, usually around the age of seven, strange things happen. Burning Christmas puddings, canes turned into snakes, spontaneous Apparition or _exploding teapots_.” She laughed triumphantly and then her expression suddenly shifted. “But why now?” she asked. “What’s different?”

She started pacing about the room, teapot still in her hands.

“Why now?” she muttered.

“Well he’s been afraid for three days straight, you’ve made sure of that,” Mr. Graves said quietly but Gertie only glared at him. 

“Yes, but why not the Obscurus? Why? There's something we're not seeing. There's something different now than the first time his powers…” she trailed off. 

“The Sudanese girl, she had been locked up and punished for her magic, yes?” she said and turned to Newt. 

“Yes,” the magizoologist said quietly with sadness in his voice but Credence could tell his interest had been piqued. 

“But ye were also punished regularly,” Gertie continued her pacing and looked at Mr. Graves. “Though not for yer magic. I'm sure the old man did it because he thought ye were a mischievous little bastard,” she added. 

“I was indeed,” Mr. Graves said and the grin he flashed her made Credence weak in the knees. 

“So what is it that we're missing? What did you have that the Sudanese girl or Credence didn't?”

“Well, money, for one,” Mr. Graves said, waving his hand as he spoke. 

“No that's not it,” Gertie said. “Even poor witches or wizards develop their powers without also developing an Obscurus in the process.”

“The Sudanese girl didn't have a family,” Newt offered. 

“But you did, Credence. Albeit not a nice one, granted,” Mr. Graves said and looked at him kindly. 

“Not a very nice one…” Gertie repeated slowly like she didn't quite grasp what he had just said. “Old man Graves is a right sod, but he loves ye in his own way,” she said but Graves only scoffed. “And ye had yer mother and yer sister…” she trailed off. 

“What if that's it?” she said, turning to Newt. “What if it's not just anger and fear that makes an Obscurus? What if it's also the lack of something?”

“Like a deficiency of some sort?” Newt said, catching on. “But what?”

“Love?” Mr. Graves asked in a low, solemn voice. 

“Exactly!” Gertie said and whipped around, throwing the teapot into the air. With a flick of his wand, Newt made the teapot land unharmed on the table. 

“So what if it is? How does that help Credence?” Mr. Graves asked and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Gertie ignored him and turned around to look at Credence. 

“I'm sorry my dear,” she said and took a step closer to him. “Credence, I don't think we can get it out of ye, not without killing ye. It's not really a parasite, it has parasitical properties yes, but I think it's more a wound than anything. And Merlin knows, some wounds never fully heal, they leave a tender scar that one learns to live with but always fears will rip open again.”

“What are you saying?” Credence asked quietly, not sure what to feel. 

“I'm saying what you need is time.”

“Obscurials don't have time,” Mr. Graves said and there was pain in his voice. 

“Usually, no,” Gertie answered but didn't take her eyes off Credence. He lifted his chin to meet her gaze. “But I think this is a quite unusual Obscurial. You're one of the strongest wizards I've ever met, Credence, and I think that with the proper training, you'll out-duel me uncle with one hand on your back.”

“I don't want to out-duel Mr. Graves,” Credence said softly, a small smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. 

“Ye don't have to. I'm saying I think ye probably could.”

“The question remains,” Newt said then. “If Credence's magic is resurfacing independently of the Obscurus, why now?”

“Because I've been happy,” Credence said with sudden realization. “This past week I've been happy. And I've felt safe, I think and… well. Welcome.”

“And ye know what? I think that is how we cure ye. Ye need to be with folks who are kind and treat you good. I think ye have to do things that make ye feel happy. It will take time and it will take an otherworldly amount of patience from ye, but give it time and I think that wound inside ye will heal to nothing but a scar as a reminder.”

“How do you know?” Credence asked then, feeling desperation claw in him. 

“I don't. Not for certain. But I do know a thing or two about the kind of scars ye can't really see,” she said and smiled kindly. 

Credence felt his insides twist with sadness. Tomorrow he would leave for Iceland. 

He hugged her then and buried his face in her neck, holding her as tight as he could. He knew he would miss her so much it would actually hurt in his chest, the way he would miss Mr. Graves and yet in a completely different way. She squeezed him tight and stroked his hair.

 

 

The little dragon he had pulled out of the fire on his first night, had curled up Credence’s lap and she slept peacefully. 

“I figured ye should name her,” Gertie said and tossed some meat chunks in the air for the other dragons to catch.

“Oh,” Credence said, surprised. “I don't know any good names,” he added apologetically. 

“Doesn't matter. If ye picked it, it's a good name,” she smiled and tossed the last chunks of meat into the air. 

“Juliet,” he said then. He had read it in one of the books Gertie had lent him. It was the most beautiful and tragic thing he had ever read. 

“Then this shall be Hamlet,” she said and pointed to the largest of the dragons. “And that, Othello,” she smiled and pointed to the last one. Credence had never heard those names, but he liked them.

“Credence, if it's alright with ye, I'd like to write ye,” Gertie said then and collected her broom and the bucket. 

“Yes! Yes please, I mean that's alright,” he said, giddy with sudden rush of happiness. “I… I'd like to write you too, if it's alright,” he said and stroked the baby dragon in his lap. 

“Of course! I'll be wanting to hear all about yer adventures with Newt!” she smiled. “And ye know, Credence, ye’ll always be welcome here. I mean it, there will always be a place for ye here,” she said and though she was still smiling, Credence noticed her eyes were a lot more shiny than usual. 

“Thank you,” he said softly and had to break away from her eye contact, his chest tight with emotion. He stroked the baby dragon in his lap and felt like his heart would break. 

“Come on,” Gertie said after a while. “Uncle Perce promised to conjure up a spectacular dinner tonight and we'll never hear the end of it if we're late,” she winked at him.

“I thought he said he couldn’t cook,” Credence sad and smiled.

“He can’t,” Gertie grinned and made for the door.

Credence gently put the little dragon in her stone nest above the embers and leaned down and kissed her goodbye despite the spikes on her head.

“Gertie!” he said as he caught up with her on the stairs.

“Yes?”

“You said ‘with proper training’... But how do you mean? Ain’t I too old to go to Ilvermorny or Hogwarts?”

“Well, yes…” she began.

“So, how then?” Credence interrupted, his heart sinking. It looked rather impossible from his end.

“Well, ye could always be tutored of course,” Gertie smiled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Most witches and wizards are, there are only eleven proper schools, scattered all over the world.”

“Tutored? How? And who would even want to teach me?” he asked gloomily, hunching his shoulders, staring at the stone steps he was trodding up.

“I would,” Gertie said and stopped.

“You would?” he said and dared a glance at her.

“Yes. And I’m certain Percival would too,” she said and then she laughed. “Of course I would, Credence. Why wouldn’t I? No!” she added quickly when he was about to protest. “Don’t ye dare answer that. Don’t do that to yerself. Of course I’d tutor ye,” she smiled kindly. “Now, I can actually smell the food cooling up there in the kitchen. Come along, Credence!” she said and grabbed his hand, Apparating them both into the kitchen.

 

 

Around him, the mooncalves were yipping and nibbling the pellets Credence had thrown them. Credence sat cross-legged between them and patted them whenever they came near him. Newt had told him that they were shy creatures but they had seemed to have accepted Credence by now. They would skip and hop around him, sometimes even nuzzling up against him. They reminded him somewhat of Joel the dog and they always made Credence feel better if he was sad, even though they were right next to the winter enclosure. When he finally got up, they all looked after him before they turned as if on a given signal only they could hear, towards the moon Newt had made for them.

When he passed the spherical nest of the demiguise, it leapt into his arms, cooing and chirping softly.

“Hello, Dougal,” Credence whispered and stroked the soft fur, hugging the demiguise closely.

“He knows you’re really saying goodbye,” Newt said then. There was a hint of his crooked half-smile but also a shadow of something else.

“How did you know?” Credence asked quietly.

Newt only shrugged and looked at Credence from under the mop of unruly, ginger hair.

“It’s been a pleasure having you here, Credence,” the man said kindly. “You’re always welcome back, should you ever feel like it.”

“Thank you,” Credence said and Dougal squeezed him tighter. “For everything. For taking care of me and helping me and… Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking a little.

Newt looked like he was about to say something, but changed his mind and instead smiled bigger than Credence had ever seen him smile before.

“Are you staying for breakfast tomorrow?” Credence said and rubbed his eyes a little.

“No, I shouldn’t think so,” Newt said with one of his small nods.

Dougal shifted in Credence’s arms and leapt over to Newt then. Credence only nodded and made for the wooden ladder.

“Credence?” Newt said then.

“Yes?” Credence turned back to look at him.

“I’ll see you soon, I expect,” the magizoologist said and flashed him another crooked half-smile.

“Yeah,” Credence smiled and then he climbed up the ladder one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting. It warms my heart and keeps me going with this story!


	10. I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence learns more of Gertie's time at Hogwarts, meets his new tutors and says goodbye to Mr. Graves for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, I'm on a roll and I'm so curious to find out what you'll think of where all this is headed so I can't wait to upload another chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> Again, it's not been read by anyone beforehand so it's a little scary still to put it out there but hey, why not, eh? 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you like it!

“Pick one,” Gertie said and pushed a piece of paper across the table to Mr. Graves at breakfast. “Or preferably two.”

“There's only two left,” Mr. Graves said, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I know,” Gertie grinned. 

“History of Magic?” Mr. Graves groaned and ran his hand over his neatly combed hair. He was already fully dressed, wearing the impeccable three-piece suit he usually wore. Credence tugged on the frayed ends of his knitted sweater self-consciously. 

“Well at least ye didn't have ter suffer through Binns,” Gertie said, her mouth full of pastry. “I honestly don't remember a single word that man said through all me years. Ye had top marks so don't ye come here and try ter wiggle out of it now,” she grinned. 

Credence had no idea what they were talking about. 

“Only because father would lecture us on the never-ending goblin wars every chance he got,” muttered Mr. Graves and sipped his coffee. 

“Defence against the Dark Arts, well I suppose that was a given,” he continued with a small smile. 

“Yes,” Gertie agreed between her mouthfuls of danish. 

“Which one is yours?” he nodded to the paper. 

“Transfiguration, a bit of Herbology and Care of magical creatures,” she grinned and Mr. Graves chuckled to himself. 

“Of course,” he said with a small smile as he pushed the paper back to Gertie. “Who will take care of Potions?”

“Not sure yet,” she said with a small frown. “I figured we'd wait a little with that.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed and sipped his coffee again. Gertie pushed the paper towards Credence. 

It was a list of strange words and sentences. Most of them had been ticked off, but two were left unmarked and a third was circled and had a question mark after it. 

“Flying lessons?” Credence asked as he read through the list. “Gertie, what is this?”

“The subjects ye’ll be tutored in of course,” she smiled. “Oh hang on!” she added and waved her hand over the paper. The list rearranged itself and instead of being ticked off, names appeared after every subject except Potions.

“So as ye can see, Care of Magical Creatures will be divided between me and Newt. Though to be fair, I think ye already know more about that than any student who ever graduated Hogwarts,” she added and winked at him. “Esther will take care of Herbology and, of course, flying. I'll help out a bit with Herbology as well. Elsa will be teaching ye Astronomy and Charms. I'll take care of Transfiguration and that,” she grinned and pointed to Mr. Graves, “is yer teacher in History of Magic and Defence against the Dark Arts.”

Credence’s heart surged. Mr. Graves would actually teach him?

“Is that alright with you, Credence?” Mr. Graves asked, his brows furrowed.

Credence nodded and tried his best to keep the smile in check.

“Now, ye’ll have ter start calling us ‘Professors’...” Gertie grinned.

“Gertie,” Mr. Graves said with a small chuckle but she ignored him.

“... and we’ll give ye shitloads of homework…” she continued.

“No we won’t,” Mr. Graves smiled at Credence.

“Speak for yerself Professor Graves! As Transfiguration master, I’ll give as much homework as I damn well please, thank ye very much!” Gertie said and pretended to scowl at Mr. Graves.

“It’s a small miracle you never got suspended,” Mr. Graves smiled back at her and then turned to Credence. “Credence, did Gertie tell you she used to break into the Ravenclaw Tower?” he said with a smug smile full of fondness and pride.

“Technically I didn’t _break_ in,” Gertie protested.

“.... regularly,” Mr. Graves added and sipped his coffee.

“It’s not breaking in if they don’t have a password!” Gertie said and rolled her eyes. “They have a riddle for Merlin’s sake! Anyone with half a brain can crack that and get in there,” she said like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Newt had told Credence about Hogwarts and the four houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. From what Newt had told him about Gryffindor students, and the faded scarlet and gold scarf he had found on the coathanger once he had actually located it, he figured Gertie was a Gryffindor.

“What were you doing in the Ravenclaw Tower?” Credence asked curiously. “I mean… You were in Gryffindor, right?”

“Ye bet I was,” Gertie smiled proudly, her green eyes glittering mischievously. “But Alice was in Ravenclaw and it was ruddy impossible to get her past the Fat Lady no matter what we did! The Fat Lady is the portrait that guards the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room,” she added upon seeing the confused look on Credence’s face. “I tell ye, tha’ woman has sharp eyes she does! Saw through everything!”

Credence felt a little giddy at hearing Gertie talk of Hogwarts and at the same time, he couldn’t help but feeling a pang of sadness and jealousy that he would never experience it like she had.

“So, I figured out how to get into the Ravenclaw Tower.”

“How?” Credence found himself sitting at the edge of his chair, eager for any little detail of the school.

“Like I said, they don’t have a password, they have riddles instead. Crack the riddle, ye get in. So the first time, I used Polyjuice. It took me almost half an hour to crack the silly riddle that time,” Gertie laughed.

_Polyjuice potion._ Newt had explained it to Credence. It was some kind of drink that made one person look like another. That’s why they had found Mr. Graves alive. Grindelwald had needed him to stay alive for the Polyjuice. He glanced at Mr. Graves and tried to not think about what he must have gone through. They had never talked about it.

“It was all going grand until the girl whose hair I’d used, walked into the Common Room… Caused quite a stir that did,” she chuckled.

“What happened?” Credence asked then, completely engulfed by her story once more.

“Alice set the rug on fire, creating a distraction so I could get out unnoticed,” Gertie said proudly and her grin was so wide it almost reached her ears.

“Got into a lot of trouble anyways. Ma sent me a Howler for stealing from Uncle Perce.”

“You _stole_? From _Mr. Graves_?” Credence asked incredulously. 

“No, she didn’t,” Mr. Graves said and pulled out his wand. “Here, look,” he said and whispered something to the wand before he twisted the silver end tip three times counter-clockwise. He pulled gently at the little silver knob. Credence looked on, awestruck. He had no idea wands could be used to store things. Mr. Graves extracted a small cylindrical vial from the shaft of his wand but when he had pulled all of it out, the cylinder swelled and seemed to flatten out somewhat, becoming a perfect circle the size of a fob watch. “Nellie knew I keep this little flask you see, and she assumed…”

“Because no one believed a fourteen year old could make Polyjuice,” Gertie interjected. “Nellie, that was me Ma, Penelope. But to tell ye the truth, I wasn't the one who made the Polyjuice, it was Alice. Of course, I refused to rat her out. ”

“What did you do the other times?” Credence asked with a small smile.

“Transfiguration. Sometimes I just changed a few things about the way I looked to fool people. In my sixth year, I figured out how to transform into a cat.”

“You can become a cat?” Credence asked wide-eyed.

“Well anyone can become a cat if they’re skilled enough. I just haven’t done it in, Merlin’s beard, what, ten years? And no, I’ll not show ye today. Someday though.”

“They teach you those things at Hogwarts?” Credence asked with longing in his voice.

“Well, not exactly,” Gertie said and she looked about to burst with mischief. “They have books on it, but they don’t let ye read them unless ye’re taking yer N.E.W.T.S and maybe not even then,” she explained.

“Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test,” Mr. Graves explained as he reassembled his wand. “It’s the highest level of education, undertaken by the seventh-years,” he added.

“Me Transfiguration teacher _kindly_ refused to sign a form to allow me access to the more advanced books,” she chuckled. “He smiled as he said no. ‘I fear I'll find a new and frequent visitor in the Ravenclaw Tower if i sign this form, miss Halloran’ he said, I remember it clear as day. He has these piercing blue eyes that see right through ye and it always feels like he knows what ye're thinking. Of course, I lied and said it was because I wanted to become an Auror like me dear uncle. Professor Dumbledore didn't budge. Luckily for me, me uncle's very good at writing letters,” Gertie grinned.

“I only agreed on the condition that she were never to get caught,” Mr. Graves added and Credence felt like all the bones in his body turned soft as Mr. Graves flashed him a smile so full of mischief it outshone even Gertie's. 

“Did you?” Credence asked, turning to Gertie with a smile. 

“Before uncle Perce got me access to the Restricted Section? A few times. After? Never again,” she grinned. “Got real close once though. Alice and I had this secret little nook behind a hideous tapestry, where we would sneak off for some privacy. Now, students aren't allowed to roam the castle after bedtime, ye can get detention for that,” Gertie added with a chuckle. “So one night we're behind the tapestry, and suddenly we hear footsteps. Professor Dumbledore clears his throat on the other side of the tapestry and we completely freeze. When he pushed it aside, there was Alice, holding a purring cat in her arms. ‘What are you doing out of bed at this hour, miss McKenna’ he asked and Alice, brave and clever and quick as always comes up with this story that her cat had been lost and she'd gone out to find it. I don't think he believed her for a second, but there she was, holding a cat and she was alone so evidence was really on her side.” Gertie smiled at the memory but Credence noticed a shadow pass over her face. He guessed she missed Alice terribly. 

“But he didn't say anything the next day?” Credence asked, too curious to hold back his questions. 

“No, not at all,” Gertie chuckled. “He's funny that way. Though he's a professor, I don't think he cares that much about rules really. At least not when breaking them means something harmless like kissing behind a tapestry in the middle of the night. I think you'll like him when you meet him,” she finished and got up from the table. “Now boys, I've got to feed the dragons.

“Do you want help?” Credence asked and rose halfway from his chair. 

“No, I've got it, thanks anyway,” she said and disappeared out the door with a sly wink to Credence.

Silence settled in the kitchen and Credence realized, with a skip of his heart, that he was all alone with Mr. Graves and that it would stay that way until either Gertie came back or Mr. Graves got up and left the kitchen. Newt had left at the break of dawn. He had tried to sneak out without Gertie noticing but she had been up and waiting for him, breakfast ready and an entire bag stuffed with food for his journey. 

Credence glanced at Mr. Graves who had busied himself with a newspaper. 

“So when will you be Apparating?” Credence asked when the silence had stretched uncomfortably long. He winced inwardly. He felt like the most uninteresting person in the entire world.

“I'm not Apparating,” Mr. Graves answered and pulled a golden fob watch from his pocket. “This is a Portkey, we use them regularly in service. At precisely two o’clock, it will activate and allow me to travel back to New York. In a way, you could say it does the Apparating for me.”

“When will you be back?” Credence asked quietly and tried his best to keep the longing out of his voice. 

“To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. However, I daresay within three weeks, at the most,” Mr. Graves said and smiled. Credence noticed the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

_Three weeks._ A part of Credence felt like it wouldn't be able to breathe until Mr. Graves returned. He told himself that three weeks was nothing and that Mr. Graves _was_ returning, and that was the important part.

“Credence, I've been meaning to talk to you,” Mr. Graves began but trailed off with a frustrated sigh. Credence felt like his heart dropped but he forced himself to meet the man's eyes

“I want you to know that you owe me nothing, Credence,” he continued. “You've made no promises and I wouldn't try to hold you to them if you had. It's important to me that you understand that, that I don't expect anything and no matter what happens, I will gladly teach you everything I know about Defence against the Dark Arts. As long as you'll have me,” he added and looked away from Credence. 

Credence wasn't quite sure he did understand but he didn't want to let Mr. Graves down so he just nodded slowly.

“Merlin, I'm twice your age,” Mr. Graves said under his breath and Credence felt his ears go pink out of embarrassment when he realized what Mr. Graves meant. 

Of course Mr. Graves didn't want to be with him. It had been silly of him to think anything else, he knew that. And yet he hadn't been able to snuff out the hope flickering inside of him the past days. Mr. Graves had kissed him back. But of course, Credence realized now, it was probably just to be polite or maybe just a spur of the moment and now that Mr. Graves had had time to think, of course he had realized he didn't want to be with someone like Credence, too young and too inexperienced to know anything about anything really. 

Mr. Graves should be with someone like Theseus Scamander, a _war hero_. Not just a silly boy who couldn't even stand up straight. 

_And a murderer_ , a voice inside him reminded him. Credence felt nauseous.

How could he ever have thought Mr. Graves wanted to be with him? He was a _freak, a murderer, a monster_. He was unworthy of their kindness, he knew that.

“Credence?” Mr. Graves asked, bringing him out of the swirling darkness of his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mr. Graves,” Credence managed. “Thank you for asking. Excuse me,” he added as he got up. “I’ll head to the library now.” Credence was surprised at how easy it was to keep his voice light and give Mr. Graves a small smile. “I have a lot to catch up on.” He waved the note casually and strolled out door to the hallway. As soon as the door had closed behind him, he felt his eyes sting with tears. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

When he got to the library, he slumped down in one of the armchairs. He rubbed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He would not cry, he wouldn't! Mr. Graves had agreed to be his teacher and Credence would not let him down. He got up and started searching for books that might be useful. He wasn't quite sure which books he would need for Defence against the Dark Arts, but he knew he had seen books about history.

When Credence had found the books he was looking for, he brought them to an armchair by one of the tall windows. He had intended to read, to keep his thoughts occupied with never-ending goblin wars, but as soon as he sat down, his thoughts started swirling again and he had to fight back the tears. 

He just felt so silly and so unbelievably stupid. How could he ever have thought Mr. Graves might have felt the same way he did?

Mean thoughts whispered to him what a horrible person he was, and how stupid he was, how unworthy of friendship and kindness he had proven himself. Those mean ghosts of a lifetime past had been growing weaker and weaker every day he spent with Newt, and here at Gertie's, they had almost been so quiet he couldn't even hear them. But now they were back with full force and Credence was wholly unprepared. These past few months he had slowly begun to pretend that he could be a part of something, that he was welcome and that people liked him. That he wasn't wicked and damned. He had of course known better, but he had found he liked the thought of being welcome and so he had pretended he was. Featherlight hope had begun to flit about in his heart. When reality hit him now, it felt like when Gertie had pushed him off the cliff but even worse, like he had fallen from the edge of the world and now he was tumbling down into nothingness. 

A part of him clawed, though not like the storm would claw in him, this was something else, and tried desperately to cling to the feathery feeling that had been growing in him, but the nothingness was ruthless and swallowed him whole.

Though Credence felt like he couldn't breathe, the storm had not yet stirred.

“Are ye alright, Credence?” Gertie's voice startled him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes,” he stuttered, “I'm fine.”

Gertie gave him a look like she didn't believe him for a second but she didn't press the matter. 

“May I?” she asked instead and gestured to the armchair next to Credence.

“Of course,” he nodded. She gave him another curious look before she pulled out a letter from her pocket. 

“This just arrived. It's a letter from a man called Ollivander, in London. He's a wandmaker. He has this new way of making wands that I think might be just what we need. He made my wand actually. It was one of his first ones for sale.”

Gertie stuffed the letter back into her pocket. 

“I took the liberty of sending him an owl the other night. Just in case you'd ever want a wand. I hope ye don't mind?”

She smiled kindly at him. 

“He doesn't know why ye don't already have a wand. And I don't plan on telling him. That's up to ye.”

“I'm getting a wand? My own wand?” Credence asked incredulously.

“Well of course! How do ye plan to start learning magic if ye don't have a wand?” Gertie said and laughed. “Wandless magic isn't exactly for beginners ye know.”

“But…” Credence began and thought of the sleek, elegant wand with a silver end-tip that belonged to Mr. Graves. It was very expensive-looking and he didn't think Gertie's or even Newt's much simpler wands were exactly cheap either. “I don't have any money.”

“No, but the Halloran Fund For Untrained Obscurials does,” Gertie smiled and winked at him. 

“I won't be able to repay you,” he tried to object but she just waved his protest away. 

“Don't worry about it, please. I mean it. Besides ye and the dragons, I have no one to dote upon. And I have far more than I could ever need. Please, Credence, I would be honoured to buy ye yer wand,” she smiled at him.

Credence found himself smiling back. The mischief always glittering in Gertie's green eyes had a way of lifting his spirits no matter what. And to think he could get his own wand!

There was a knock on the library door and when Gertie yelled "Aye!" Mr. Graves came into the room. 

“This just arrived,” he said and held out an envelope to Gertie.

“Grand!” She pulled out a thick paper and read through it quickly, muttering to herself as she did, slowly pacing about the room.

Credence didn't look at Mr. Graves, he focused on the book in his hands instead.

“You are a most eager student, aren't you?” Mr. Graves said and sat down in the armchair beside Credence. “What have you got there?”

“Reminaux?” Mr. Graves chuckled as Credence showed him the book. “Merlin, boy! You'll be bored senseless if you start with Reminaux! Here, let's see,” he said and started going through the books on the little table between them. 

Gertie was reading the letter Mr. Graves had brought her and she waved her wand every now and then, making books fly from the shelves to land at the desk behind her.

“Here, start with these ones,” Mr. Graves said and handed Credence three of the books he had picked out earlier. “They will provide you with a basic knowledge of the most important events in wizarding history while at the same time being rather entertaining. Well, at least not so dull that you'd rather watch the grass grow,” he added with a smile. 

Credence nodded and forced himself to smile back.

“There we are!” Gertie exclaimed when she put the letter down.

“We'll have to make trip to Flourish and Blott's anyway though. There are some books we don't have, believe it or not!” she chuckled.

“Ye want them here or in the bookshelf in yer room?” Gertie smiled as she turned to Credence. 

“There’s no bookshelf in…” Credence swallowed. It felt so strange to think of the guest room as his. “... my room,” he finished and couldn't help smiling as warmth spread through his body at the thought of having his own room. 

“Well, that can easily be arranged,” Mr. Graves said and got to his feet. 

“Only if you want one, of course,” he added and shot Credence a look, his brow furrowed. 

“Um. Sure. Thank you.”

Mr. Graves gave him a small smile before he disappeared through the door. 

Gertie chuckled to herself as he went. 

“Ye've really got him round yer little finger don't ye? He'll give ye anything ye ask, I'm sure of it.”

Credence didn't look at her. He picked at a thread in his striped pants. 

“I think you're wrong,” he said quietly. 

“Oh really?” Gertie said with a voice that sounded very smug and sure of herself.

“He said I was too young,” Credence whispered and blinked several times. 

“Did he now?” Gertie said, the tone of her voice changed. It was softer, more serious but there was an edge to it that Credence didn’t understand.

He stole a glance at her and saw that she was looking at him, her head cocked to the side, her piercing green eyes never leaving him. 

“What else did he say?”

Credence only shrugged.

“Ye don’t have to tell me,” Gertie said earnestly then and Credence glanced at her again. She had gotten up from the desk she had been leaning against. “It’s alright if ye don’t want to talk about it.”

Credence shrugged again.

“He said I hadn’t made him any promises,” he told her then, his voice rising at the end like a question. “And that even if I had, he wouldn’t have held me to them, but I think it was just a nice way of him to…” Credence shrugged again.

“Wanna break some china?”

“No, thank you. I’m good,” Credence smiled and drew a shuddering breath as he realized that he actually was. The rejection hurt, that he couldn’t deny, but a part of him also knew that he was fine and the darkness that had whispered to him before, had no power against Gertie’s kind smile.

“Dragons?” she grinned.

“Yes,” he said, returning her smile and putting the book on the small table beside him.

“Well come along then, Credence!” she said and held out her hand to take him Sidealong. 

 

 

The dragons were soaring around him, around and around they flew. He tried to keep up with them on the broom Gertie had lent him, but they were faster than him by far. The laughter bubbled out of him and when Juliet dove with a happy squeak only to lift again when she was inches from his face, Credence felt like his heart might melt.

“We’ll take ‘em out tonight, let them fly in the open,” Gertie said when he landed.

“Really? We can do that?”

“Of course we can. They’ll love it, believe me,” she grinned. “Now, let’s get some lunch!”

 

 

It was five minutes to two. They were standing in the garden, Mr. Graves in his long, black coat, Credence in his colorful scarf and burgundy coat, and Gertie, who wore only a green, knitted sweater over her shirt. She always wore pants, a shirt and suspenders and sometimes a waistcoat, Credence had noticed.

“Bye, uncle Perce!” Gertie said and hugged the man.

“Bye, my little troublemaker,” he said fondly and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“I have a strong suspicion Gertie will keep you plenty occupied with Transfiguration and the dragons, so there is no need to read ahead,” Mr. Graves said and smiled at Credence then. “Especially not Reminaux!”

Credence gave a small smile and forced himself to meet Mr. Graves’ brown eyes.

“I won’t,” he lied and held out his hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Graves.”

Credence felt a little stupid at offering to shake hands, but he didn’t know what else to do. Of course, a part of him still wanted nothing more than to feel Mr. Graves’ arms around him, feel his lips against his lips, but he knew that could not, would not, be.

A shadow passed across Mr. Graves face and Credence noticed that the smile no longer reached the man’s eyes.

“Be seeing you, Credence,” he said, his voice strained as he shook Credence’s outstretched hand.

When Mr. Grave’s released his hand, he reached instead for the fob watch.

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Graves said and locked eyes with Credence and then he was gone.

Credence felt like the gorgeous man took a part of him with him when he left.

 

 

“There ye go, careful now,” Gertie instructed him as he lifted Juliet from the stone nest. She settled in his arms with a small squeak.

Othello was perched on Gertie’s shoulder and Hamlet had curled as close to her chest as he could in her arms.

“There we are,” she said soothingly. “Come along now, there we go.”

As they carried the dragons up the stairs and through the kitchen, they squeaked and looked curiously about, but they didn’t try to fly away. 

“Open up now,” Gertie muttered to the kitchen door that obeyed and swung open, the evening air cool against their cheeks.

“Here we are, come on now,” Gertie murmured as they emerged in the gardens. The dragons squeaked and Juliet cocked her head to the side.

The sun was slowly setting beyond the mountains, bathing them all in the same warm, apricot light that had greeted Credence on his first night at the castle.

“Off ye go now,” Gertie said but the dragons didn’t move. “It’s alright little ones, spread yer wings now, I’m right here, I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

But the dragons still didn’t move.

“It’s alright,” Credence told Juliet. “It’s really rather nice out here, isn’t it?”

The dragon squeaked and pushed against his chest so she could rub her snout against his nose. And then, with another squeak, she was off. Juliet had managed to circle around them several times before the other two followed.

Gertie laughed triumphantly.

The dragons soared higher and higher, until it was difficult to make out anything but black dots high above. Soon they dove and circled Gertie and Credence a few turns before zooming away through the gardens, weaving through the trees and plants.

“They won’t fly away though?” Credence asked when he couldn’t see Juliet anymore.

“Nah, they still need us,” Gertie smiled. “They’re not ready to be on their own yet and they know it too.”

He stood in silence with Gertie for a while, listening to the squeaks from the dragons as they flew past again and again.

“Gertie,” he began and swallowed hard. “Why are you so nice to me?”

Though the dark thoughts had quieted more and more throughout the day, that very question had been nagging at the back of his mind anyway.

Gertie gave him a long, thoughtful look before she answered.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said then and gave him a small smile.

“I don’t deserve it,” Credence admitted.

“Of course ye do. Besides, ye shouldn't ever have to deserve kindness and respect, that should be granted by default. It’s the dislike and distrust and disrespect ye should have to work to ‘deserve’ if ye ask me,” she said and huffed a little.

“I murdered people, Gertie,” he said, his voice so quiet and fragile in the evening air between them.

“No ye didn’t. Ye defended yerself. No, look,” she added when he started to protest. “Ye remember when little Juliet hissed at ye that first night? Yeah? Ye know why? Because all the fear from the Obscurus inside ye, scared her. And she hissed, the first warning fer ye to back off. Had ye forced her further, she would have bit ye. And probably tried to burn yer face away. Had she been older and bigger, she would have killed ye without blinking. Lashing out in defence and out of fear.”

“Credence, that woman, she was a vile and cruel woman and what she did to ye was wrong, do ye hear? She beat ye for something ye’re born with. That’s like beating ye fer breathing,” she continued, anger rising in her voice. “And ye know that senator? From what I’ve gathered, he was a right arsehole that one as well.”

“People have been treating ye badly, horribly, for so long, Credence. They've hurt ye and made sure you had no way of defending yerself. And all of them have been adults who should have damn well known better. None of this is your fault. You didn't make the Obscurus. The failings of grown-ups did. There's an entire society full of safety nets that should have caught you but it didn't. For some reason it didn't. And somewhere in that, the Obscurus built up and got stronger and when you had been taught not to defend yourself to the point where it was impossible, the Obscurus lashed out. Just like the dragon would. Or a bowtruckle would. None of this is on ye, do ye hear?”

“But you’ve said it yourself, it wasn’t out of fear, it was revenge,” Credence protested quietly.

“You think you're the only one who ever wanted revenge? Is that it?” she said and laughed humourlessly. “I never told ye how Alice died, did I? She was everything to me, Credence. She was my world and I loved her with all my heart. Grindelwald killed her. He murdered her. Because she defended muggles. Because she had the audacity to say that muggles were equal to wizardkind and that no man, muggle or wizard, could rightfully stand above the other. And I swear to ye, Credence, if I could have ripped him apart, I would have. Merlin knows, I would have. Revenge, that's just. This need. You see. This need within us to take back something that someone took from us without permission. Our dignity. Our sense of self worth. Our love. Or family, friends. Our trust. When someone steals that and breaks it without our permission, we all want revenge. The only difference is, I was lucky enough to grow up with a family that loved me, and gave me every opportunity to blossom and bloom into the person I am today. And that, Credence, has given me a way to deal with hurt and anger and the need for revenge. Ye didn’t get that because some woman decided ye were less than her and that she had the right to beat ye. And ye know what? She was wrong. I'm glad she's dead, and good riddance.”

The anger in Gertie’s eyes was unlike anything Credence had ever seen. It was a force of nature that almost matched the storm inside of him. And what was more, she didn’t direct it at him. She was staring right at him, her eyes burning with rage, but it wasn't directed at him. He was not the reason she was angry. And then it hit him. She was a mother dragon protecting her offspring. And he was one of them. He realized that she would never let any harm come to him. She was prepared to fight for him and defend him.

He had never felt so _welcome_ in his entire life.

He hugged her then, as hard as he could and buried his face in her shoulder.

“There we go,” she whispered and stroked his hair and his back. “Let it all out. Ye’re safe now, Credence.”

Above them, the three dragons soared and squeaked with joy as they stretched their wings and zoomed across the fields until the sun had completely disappeared behind the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so full of tiny little nods and tributes to the story as you hopefully recognised; Hermione being able to make Polyjuice at the age of 12, Albus Dumbledore not really seeming to care about rules, the nook behind the tapestry where Ginny kisses Dean, professor Binns still being alive but still the most boring teacher ever, and so on and so fort.
> 
> The fob watch was something I thought about for a long time, it only seems reasonable to me that Aurors have an item that is their go-to-Portkey-object, so I decided to issue fob watches to the MACUSA Aurors.
> 
> And, the wand-tip-bottle-idea came from these pictures:
> 
> http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Percival_Graves%27_polyjuice_flask?file=Percival_Graves%27_polyjuice_flask.png  
> https://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/harrypotter/images/c/c6/Percival_Graves_wand.png/revision/latest?cb=20161128064141
> 
> I just couldn't help thinking the silver end tip of his wand looks remarkably much like the stopper to the polyjuice flask... And knowing people have stored knives and what not inside their wands then I thought, why not? So yeah, there's that.
> 
> And no, in my head, Gertie's not an Animagus. It does seem possible to transform into an animal if one is skilled enough at Transfiguration without being/becoming an Animagus. Besides, she'd never have had the patience to carry a mandrake-leaf inside her mouth and subsequently not have been able to kiss Alice for a month...
> 
> Well, that was about it I think.
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting!
> 
> I'll try to upload another chapter soon, but I make no promises
> 
> Loads of love!


	11. Tins and bricks and sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence and Gertie go to London for some shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the next chapter!
> 
> It was one of the most difficult ones to write, I'll tell you more about why in the notes at the end. But I hope you like the chapter!
> 
> I'm currently bedridden because of some malicious form of flu, so hopefully, I'll be able to tinker a bit with this story over the next couple of days.

Credence woke at dawn. Excitement crashed over him like a tidal wave. They were going to London today.

His clothes were neatly folded on a chair. Gertie had told him to leave them in the bathroom last night after he’d taken a long bath. He was still getting used to the luxury of being able to soak in a bathtub or even washing his hands in warm water. It was still strange to him, not being cold and hungry all the time. He reached for his clothes and realized Gertie had mended them and she must have done something to the colours because his clothes looked almost new. His fingers brushed over the brown striped fabric of his waistcoat. It was richer in color than he had ever seen it. He pulled on his striped pants and his shirt that was whiter than ever before. He tied the small, black tie and buttoned his waistcoat. He tried his best not to flinch as he reached for the brown belt hanging across the back of the chair, but a shudder still went through him as he buckled it. He wondered if he would ever get used to it just being a belt.

Gertie had left him a nice, burgundy knitted sweater that he chose instead of his usual black jacket. He had just pulled it over his head when there was a knock at the door.

“Ye up, Credence?”

“Yes, come in!”

“Mornin’,” Gertie said and smiled as she opened the door. “And dressed already, well done! Breakfast?”

“Yes, please,” he answered, smiling. “And Gertie? Thank you for the sweater.”

“Glad ye like it,” she said and there was something to her smile he couldn’t quite place at first.

“It was Mr. Graves’ before, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. He brought a bunch of clothes with him. He knew ye didn't really have a vast and deep wardrobe to begin with. He does have an impeccable sense for fashion and fancy clothes, one has to give the vain old bastard that at least,” she chuckled. 

“He does indeed,” Credence said and couldn't help the small smile.

Maybe, he thought to himself, he was still allowed to find Mr. Graves impossibly handsome even if the man himself didn't want him and even if Credence’s thoughts turned sinful now and again, despite his most valiant efforts to keep them from straying to those corners of his mind.

“Alright, breakfast! Come along!” Gertie said then, clapping her hands together.

 

Credence was a little nervous. He was looking at an old tin can on the kitchen table. They were travelling by Portkey, like Mr. Graves. 

(“Sidealong's just too damn uncomfortable for that distance, if we use Floo Powder, ye'll have yet brush ash out of yer ears for weeks, ye've never flown long distance and muggle transportation is just, in me humble opinion, too slow for us,” Gertie had told him with a grin when she had shown him the tin. Apparently a friend of hers at the Ministry had arranged for a Portkey.)

“Ye alright, Credence?” Gertie said with a kind smile then. 

Credence only nodded, he didn't trust his voice.

“It's not so bad,” she said and took his hand. “Ready?”

Credence only nodded again and reached for the can with his other hand like Gertie showed him. 

“Three, two, one, now!”

Credence placed his hand on the tin can and immediately he felt like he was jerked forward by his bellybutton. He could no longer feel the kitchen floor beneath his feet, but he could feel Gertie’s hand in his, holding on tight, and her arm was pressed to his. But he couldn’t see her. All he could see was a kaleidoscope of colour swirling by him and all he could hear was the wind roaring in his ears. He began to feel nauseous as they sped forwards and for a moment he worried he might lose his grip on the can, but then he realized he couldn’t let go of it, it was as if his hand was glued to it, as if his hand had melted into the can and couldn’t be separated. And then, suddenly, it all stopped and Credence felt ground beneath his feet again but his head was spinning and he couldn’t quite get his bearings.

“Ye alright?” Getie said and reached out a hand for him to help him up from the floor he was apparently sitting on.

They were inside a rather empty bar with a high ceiling and tall windows through which the early morning light was shining. The walls, who had probably been stark white once, were a yellowish kind of color now the closer to the floor it got. An enormous fireplace covered almost an entire wall and to his left there was the bar itself and the barman; a tallish, balding man with only tufts of gray hair left on the sides.

“Gertie!” he exclaimed with a smile that revealed three of his teeth missing and one gold tooth that gleamed in the light from candles and torches in brackets on the walls.

“Tom,” Gertie greeted. “Busy day, eh?” she chuckled and cast a look around the nearly empty room. A wizard sat in one of the corners, sleeping with his head on the table, his pointy hat askew.

“Oh, it’s still early,” Tom smiled and reached for two glasses.

“What’ll it be?”

“Nothing for now, but maybe on the way back. We’d better get going actually, we’ve got an early appointment to make it to. Cheers, Tom! Come along, Credence, this way,” she added and with a hand on his arm, she guided him out the back.

They were standing in a small courtyard with nothing except a brick wall opposite the door through which they had come. Gertie went up to the brick wall and pulled out her wand, tapping the wall three times.

Credence stared, amazed, as the bricks shifted from a solid wall into an archway, leading to a winding, cobbled street with shops painted in vibrant colors on either side of the street.

“Woah,” Credence sighed as they walked through the archway. 

Though none of the shops were yet open, it wasn’t hard to imagine the street bustling with people. He turned around to try and look at all the shops at the same time. He saw strange names above the shops and the windows were packed with everything from parchment and quills to cauldrons and telescopes to real-live owls.

“This way,” Gertie said and led him to a shop that was painted black. In the window, there was a single wand lying on bright purple cushion.

“Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC,” Credence read aloud from the gold letters above the door. His stomach felt like it was made up of a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings.

Gertie stepped up to the door and rapped her knuckles on the wooden frame. Through the glass panes of the door, Credence could see a man approaching.

“Gertie!” the man said and smiled. His hair was graying and his eyes were pale and wide. “Come in, come in.”

The shop was small and there were probably hundreds of narrow boxes, stacked neatly, and two of the piles were so high they almost reached the ceiling.

“Garrick, this is my friend that I wrote to you about...” Gertie began and gave Credence a small nudge.

“Ah yes,” the man said and reached out a hand to Credence. “Yes, yes. Garrick Ollivander. You must be Credence.”

“Hello,” Credence said and shook the man’s hand but cast his eyes to the floor. Mr. Ollivander had a piercing look that made Credence a little uncomfortable.

“American,” Mr. Ollivander noted.  
“Uh, yes,” Credence said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his awkwardness. “I’m from New York.”

“You recently moved, I take it,” Mr. Ollivander said and finally let go of his hand.

“Yes,” Credence said quietly and cast a sideways glance at Gertie.

“Well, mr…?”

“Barebone, but umh…”

“Barebone?” said Mr. Ollivander and gave him a piercing look that Credence had to force himself to meet. “Curious,” the man muttered to himself.

“Credence is fine,” Credence said quietly.

“Well, Credence,” Mr. Ollivander said then and from one of his pockets, he pulled a long tape measure with silver markings. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Are ye right-handed or left-handed?” Gertie explained with a kind smile.

“I’m right-handed,” Credence said but he cast his eyes down again.

“Ye weren’t to begin with though, were ye?” Gertie said quietly, realizing what his hunched shoulders meant.

Credence only shook his head and cradled his left hand in his right. Mary-Lou had spent years beating the left-handedness out of him. She had even tied his left hand on his back to force him to learn how to use the right in everything, not only for writing.

“Left then,” Gertie concluded.

“But…” Credence protested softly.

“It’s alright, Credence, I promise,” she said and gave his arm a small squeeze.

“Hold out your arm, please,” Mr. Ollivander said then, and there was a kinder tone to his voice now.

As Credence reluctantly held out his left hand, Mr. Ollivander began measuring him, the length of his arm and from his shoulder to the floor and so on.

“Until only a few decades ago, it was customary for wandmakers to only make wands that the customers desired, they themselves would bring a magical substance for the core and a wood they preferred. Now, this is not how Ollivander wands are made today,” Mr. Ollivander told him as he measured. “I worked very hard on finding the right woods and cores you see. I work with a number of different woods, but only three cores; Dragon heartstring, unicorn hair and phoenix feather. It is really the wand that chooses the wizards you see. Only then will one find a true match.” Mr. Ollivander stuffed the tape measure back into his pockets and began walking around the shop, pulling out boxes from the piles, while miraculously managing to not knock over a single one, before shaking his head and putting them back in the piles.

“Gertie here is one of the first customers to buy such a wand,” Mr. Ollivander said and paused briefly to smile at Gertie. “Spruce and dragon heartstring, Ten and three-quarter inches, springy.”

“That’s right,” Gertie laughed.

“And miss McKenna, she had one of pear and unicorn hair, eleven inches and unyielding.”

“She did,” Gertie nodded and Credence could tell there was a shadow of sorrow in her eyes. “We met here in the shop,” she said, turning to Credence then. “It was the first time we met, Alice and I. Of course, we went on to study at Hogwarts together, but this is where we first met.”

“Let’s see,” Mr. Ollivander said then, returning with a narrow box. “Hawthorn and unicorn hair, twelve and a half inches, rather bendy. Go on,” he added as he held out the open box to Credence.

Credence swallowed but reached for the wand with his left hand. He had barely gripped it before Mr. Ollivander snatched it away.

“No, no!” he said and went to find another box. Credence felt his ears going pink.

“Don’t worry, it took me half an hour,” Gertie said and gave his arm another reassuring squeeze.

“How is your uncle?” Mr. Ollivander called to Gertie from somewhere close to the back of the shop.

“Better. And he said to thank you again for taking a look at his wand!”

“It was my pleasure, superb wand that is, absolutely superb. Ebony and tailfeather of a thunderbird, fourteen and a half inches with a fine silver end tip.”

“Mr. Ollivander made Mr. Graves’ wand as well?” Credence asked.

“No, but after what happened he wanted to make sure that his wand hadn’t been compromised. He wasn’t satisfied with what the four American wandmakers concluded, so he brought it here for Garrick to take a look at.”

“Here we are, try this. Elder, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, sturdy. Give it a wave.”

Credence grasped the wand and waved it but nothing happened.

“Hm,” Mr. Ollivander muttered and turned to the piles again, but returned almost immediately.

“Yew, thirtheen and a half inches. Pheonix feather.”

Credence waved it and nothing happened. Mr. Ollivander muttered and disappeared for a while then.

“What if there isn’t one that will choose me?” Credence said gloomily.

“Then Garrick will make a hundred more until he has the right one, believe me, he’ll find one that suits you.”

“Now,” Mr. Ollivander said as he returned with three boxes, “I have a feeling one of these should do the trick. Try this one, larch, unicorn hair, eleven and a quarter inches, quite whippy.”

Credence waved it. Nothing.

“Hm,” muttered Mr. Ollivander. “This one then, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple.”

Credence waved that wand as well, feeling discouraged despite Gertie’s kind smile. Again, nothing happened.

“No, well it was a wild stab in the dark I suppose,” Mr. Ollivander said to himself. “Here then, willow and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches, quite flexible. Go on, try it!”

Credence reached for the wand without any real hope but as soon as his fingers closed around the intricately carved handle, a warmth spread in him, not unlike the warmth Mr. Graves’ lips brought out in him. As Credence waved the wand, white sparks flew out like falling stars, showering them all in glittering and glimmering flecks of light.

“Oh, bravo, bravo!” Mr. Ollivander cried and clapped his hands and Gertie laughed. “Willow, indeed. Well done!”

Credence wasn’t really sure what he had done but he knew, as certain as Mr. Ollivander, that this was indeed his wand.

“Dragon heartstring,” he said then, realization hitting him. “But Gertie…”

Gertie only smiled.

“Is it one of mine?” she asked, looking at Mr. Ollivander.

“Yes, the one you brought two years ago,”Mr. Ollivander nodded.

“Eamon!” Gertie smiled. “He was taken as a hatchling and some rich pureblood family chained him up to guard their vault at Gringotts centuries ago. I have a friend who works there and normally, when a dragon dies in the vaults, the goblins discard of it themselves. But this friend owed me favour so he sent for me in time. Eamon lived a couple of months after I got him out of the vaults, actually. He was blind and completely white after living all his life in darkness, but he died in freedom with the forest and lake and mountains around him. He would have liked you.”

Credence suddenly felt rather uncomfortable with the wand Mr. Ollivander was wrapping up in white tissue paper.

“I don’t want to have a wand with a dragon heartstring,” Credence told Gertie.

“Credence, the only heartstrings Garrick uses nowadays are the ones I bring him. And they all come from dragons who died in freedom, being loved and cared for. If ye should buy a dragon-cored wand anywhere, it’s here,” she said and gave the man eight large golden coins.

“But they didn’t live in freedom.”

“Some of them did. Some of them were injured or sick or just very very old. I have friends all over the world who send for me when they come upon dragons needing some sort of sanctuary. Eamon had as good a life as I could give him for as long as he was with me, and he was a completely different dragon when he passed than on they day I got him out of the vaults. Isn’t that what matters, Credence? That despite the abuse he suffered at Gringotts, in the end he found happiness?”

The look Gertie gave him was piercing and full of something Credence couldn’t quite place.

“I guess…” he admitted and shrugged.

“Ye will do amazing things with this wand, I’m sure of it. And I’m glad to say I knew the dragon who provided the core. It’s not strange it should be Eamon’s wand that chooses ye, Credence. Now, come along. Loads to do ye know. Thank ye so much Garrick, for having us this early,” she added and clasped hands with the man.

“Oh, no worries, dear, no worries at all. Pleasure was all mine. It was nice meeting you, Credence Barebone,” he said and held out his left hand for Credence to shake.

“Thank you,” Credence said and smiled at the man before he followed Gertie out onto the cobbled street.

 

 

Around lunchtime, they returned to the bar they had arrived in earlier that morning. Credence found out it was called “The Leaky Cauldron”.

“Tom, give us some of the stew, will ye? And something nice to drink, please!” Gertie called to the barman as they put down all their packages and their bags on one of the tables. Credence realized he was really hungry.

They had bought him books at Flourish and Blotts, a cauldron, a telescope, parchments, quills, the standard ingredients for first year students’ potion studies, three sets of black robes and even a set of marine robes with silver embroidery on it. Credence had run his hand over the soft fabric and Gertie hadn’t hesitated to buy it. “Percival’s orders,” she had said. “Ye see any clothes ye like, I’m to buy it for ye,” she had explained and waggled her eyebrows. “Even if ye wanted a dress, he said.” Gertie had even insisted on buying Credence his own owl, and in the large cage Credence had set on the table, a beautiful eagle-owl was sleeping with its head under its wing. Gertie had even ordered a broom for him, but it would take a week or two before it was finished.

“Here we are,” the barman said then as two plates and two large glass tumblers came wobbling through the air towards the table.

“Thank ye, Tom!” Gertie smiled at the barman and waved her hand to summon money and, from the barman’s happy smile, what Credence guessed must be a generous tip.

Credence began wolfing down the food without thinking but then he suddenly stopped, his ears going pink as he remembered all the times he had been punished for eating too greedily.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“For what?” Gertie asked as she pulled a gold fob watch out of her pocket.

“Nothing,” Credence said and forced a smile.

“Portkey leaves in three hours. Oi, Tom!” she called to the barman. “Is there portkey waiting for me?”

“Oh yes,” the barman answered and brought them a small, white flower vase. “Mr. Scamander brought it over about an hour ago.”

“Theseus, Newt’s brother,” Gertie explained to Credence. “Thank ye, Tom! Now,” she added and grabbed a spoon. “I’m hungry like a werewolf!”

 

When they had finished eating, after what felt like an eternity - Credence never seemed to be able to reach the bottom of his bowl of stew - they left all their things with Tom the barman and headed to a nearby street where they went into muggle-shops. When Credence tried to protest at all the clothes Gertie bought him, she just grinned and said “Percival’s orders. Now, go on. Point at what ye want, and we’ll get it for ye.”

 

 

When Credence stumbled into bed that night, he was completely exhausted. He had thanked Gertie so many times for everything she had done, that she had finally laughed and told him to stop saying thank you. His wand was resting on a wandstand on the desk in his room. He felt his heart swell with pride and joy and gratefulness. He had never felt so well taken care of, so _pampered_. He had protested and tried to tell Gertie over and over that she really didn’t have to and he would never be able to repay her.

“Credence, ye’re part of the family. Ye don’t have to repay me, ever, I promise. I think this is really fun!” Gertie had grinned at him. “And ye can tell those old ghosts to go and shut it, ye deserve all this,” she had added, knowing exactly what he was about to say. Credence had decided to not protest anymore and he did his best to tell the old ghosts to shut it.

He had written a letter to Elsa and Esther, telling them of his day and then he had sent his owl with the letter. Tomorrow he would write to Tina and Queenie and Newt and maybe, just maybe, he would write one to Mr. Graves.

At the thought of Mr. Graves, a warm feeling stirred in his stomach and he let his mind go to those sinful corners while his hand slid further down, for once without shame, another small act of defiance against the ghosts of a lifetime past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. There we are. See why it was one of the most difficult ones to write?
> 
> I so wanted to do justice to all the familiar things we meet, Ollivander and Diagon Alley and The Leaky Cauldron and Tom the Barman, but it's really hard! I hope you think I caught at least enough of them to be recognisable.
> 
> Speaking of recognisable, did catch them? Well. I couldn't help myself. And also, after extensive wandlore studies, they weren't impossible candidates for Credence's wand, I had an entire chart where I wrote down which woods and cores might work and they actually fit into the category.
> 
> (Choosing wand core and wood was really really difficult though, haha!)
> 
> Oh, and also. Since I hadn't planned on this being Credence's story really, more like Gertie's when I set out to write it, I hadn't planned on having to introduce him to all of the wizarding world just like dear old Harry, but since this somehow turned out to be Credence's story, it just sort of happened and felt like a nice gift to give the poor boy, the marvellous, wondrous wizarding world on a more detailed level. So just bare with me, haha!
> 
>  
> 
> And as always, tell me what you think, your words are always interesting and heartwarming to read!
> 
>  
> 
> Loads of love!


	12. Books and spells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence begins his studies at the Halloran/Graves/Wilson School for Untrained Obscurials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long absence, dears!
> 
> School started again and all my waking hours went to acting classes and then recovering by binge-watching Netflix.
> 
> But now I'm back with a small chapter, hope you like it!

The next morning, Credence woke to the sound of a beak tapping against the window.

“Oh, hello,” he said as he saw the eagle-owl with a letter in its beak. He got up and let the owl in through the window. He had decided to call it Archibald and when he had asked the owl yesterday if it was alright with that name, it had hooted softly and nibbled his finger. Credence had taken that for a yes.

Now the owl hopped in through the window and held out its leg where Credence could untie a letter.

“Thank you, Archibald,” he said and stroked the brown and yellow feathers as Archibald hooted softly.

_Dear Credence_

_We’re so excited to hear about your wand and the broom! Hope it’ll turn up soon so  
we can go flying!_

_Esther’s been away for a few days with her beau but she’s back home now and we  
should be able to come visit on wednesday._

_All the best,  
Esther and Elsa_

“That’s tomorrow!” he said excitedly to Archibald who hooted in response. “They’re coming tomorrow!”

 

 

After breakfast, Gertie took him to a study in a part of the castle he hadn’t yet been. She brought a couple of books with her and they sat down behind a desk while Gertie went through the very basics of Transfiguration and Credence wrote it all down eagerly.

“So, here it is,” Gertie said as she drew up a complicated formula on a piece of paper. “Once ye get the hang of it, it’s not as difficult as it seems.”

They spent the next two hours going through all the theory behind transfiguration. Credence felt like his head might soon burst with all the information.

“Now,” Gertie said and smiled and pulled two matches from her pocket. “I want ye to try to transform this match into a needle. Here,” she said and showed him and with the flick of her wand, she turned one of the matches into a needle.

But despite his best efforts, all Credence managed was to make the match quiver.

“Don’t worry, Credence, ye’ll get the hang of it. No one gets it on the first try,” Gertie said and gave him an encouraging pat on his shoulder.

Credence sighed and flicked his wand again. The match burst into flames and Gertie laughed.

“Well, that’s interesting. I’ve never heard of anyone making their matches catch on fire like that! Well done!”

“But I failed,” Credence protested.

“Ye didn’t turn into a needle, no. But ye made it burst into flames. That’s usually not something they teach ye until ye’ve studied quite a while. Now,” she said and twirled her wand and Credence gasped as she turned into a large, yellow tabby cat.

“I thought ye deserved some encouragement,” she grinned as she turned back into herself.

Credence only laughed.

 

 

What woke Credence the next day, was the happy barking of Joel the dog as he managed to get the door open and rushed in, jumping on the bed and licking Credence anywhere he could reach.

“Hello, you big brute!” Credence laughed and hugged Joel.

 

After breakfast, Elsa showed him all the plants in the first herbary, what they were used for and how one should best put them to use. She taught him seven different rhymes to remember the specific plants by. Credence wrote it all down.

When they had finished with lunch, Esther brought him to the same study he’d been to the day before, to teach him the basic theory of Charms and Credence wrote down all she told him. Until next time, she asked him to read the first three chapters of a book they had bought in Diagon Alley. He read the first five the very same evening. There was just so much he wanted to learn, he was just so curious and eager. Gertie only laughed a hearty, barking laugh when she found him completely engulfed by the book.

When the sun had set, Elsa took him to the highest tower and through his telescope he saw all the stars and Elsa taught him all the constellations and planets they could see. Credence wrote it all down and when he staggered into bed he dreamt of stars and barking dogs who shifted color, a hundred different plants all waving to him and finally spell after spell raining down on him in showers of white and gold and red and blue and green.

 

 

Life with Gertie quickly settled into a comfortable routine. Three days a week, Esther and Elsa would come to the castle to teach him herbology, astronomy, charms and flying. Two days a week, he would do care of magical creatures and transfiguration with Gertie and then, two days a week, she would tell him, grinning, to not touch a single one of his books and just rest, but Credence couldn’t resist. He practiced spells and incantations, he took care of the plants in the herbaries and replanted saplings and placed them in the many windows of the castle.

And he just couldn’t keep his hands off the books in the library.

He read about Hogwarts and Ilvermorny, about MACUSA and Rappaport’s law and Aurors and his heart seemed to skip a beat when he read about the American Director of Magical Law Enforcement. He read about goblin wars and Scourers and witch-hunts and he learned why Mr. Ollivander had found his last name curious. He read about creatures he never knew existed before and places he had never heard about. He found out about house-elves and magical transportation and Quidditch and the politics of wizarding world.

 

“Gertie,” he said one night. “How come it’s always so clean here? Do we have house-elves?”

“Merlin no!” Gertie laughed. “This is a muggle-castle, there were never any house-elves here.”

“But Newt said an Erumpent-horn…”

“Yes, well, most likely. A little more than a hundred years ago, half the castle exploded. The muggles thought it was the old laird’s still that did it, but the Ministry sent someone to take a look at it, and they concluded it was a magical artefact or spell of some kind. Me and Newt came to the conclusion that it must have been an Erumpent horn. There are paintings of the old laird’s grandfather and sitting in a large armchair in front of what is almost certainly an Erumpent horn. Alice inherited this when her grandmother died and no muggle thought we could ever restore it of course. So we just cast some spells to make them think it still looks destroyed.”

 

Every time that Ester and Elsa came to the castle, Joel kept breaking into Credence’s room to wake him, so after a while, Credence started leaving his door ajar when he went to bed and he could hear Joel’s happy barking all the way up the stairs.

And all the while, without him really noticing, he started healing. Slowly, ever so slowly, he began trusting more, relaxing more, straightening his shoulders a little more. And the storm inside of him, faded a little more for every day he spent in the good company of Gertie and Esther and Elsa and Joel and Juliet and Othello and Hamlet and Archibald.

He got letters from New York regularly, and even Newt made sure to write him, though not quite so often as Queenie and Tina.

But though a part of wished another letter from New York would reach him, Mr. Graves never wrote and after his first letter, telling him about the wand and the day in Diagon Alley, Credence hadn’t written again. Mr. Graves had promised to return within three weeks, but it had been nearly a month now, and there had been no sign of Mr. Graves. He tried to not let that get him down, but even though he knew Mr. Graves didn’t want him, a part of him ached and longed for the gorgeous man.

And then, one morning, when Credence went down to make breakfast, he found Mr. Graves sleeping with his head on the kitchen table, his long, black coat slung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and Credence’s heart leapt in his chest.

Mr. Graves woke with a start when Credence put down a cup of coffee on the table. The sudden movement made Credence drop the cup, spilling the scaldingly hot liquid all over his hands.

“Merlin’s beard, I’m so sorry!” Mr. Graves said and with a wave of his wand, the coffee had vanished, the broken cup had mended but Credence’s hands were blistered and red.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, trying to tuck his hands away in his pockets before Mr. Graves could see them, but Mr. Graves was faster and caught his hands in his.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said softly and ran his thumbs gently over Credence’s aching hands, all the while murmuring. The blisters disappeared and the redness faded.

“Thank you,” Credence said and smiled at the gorgeous man. He felt completely giddy inside.

“It was my fault you got burned, this is the least I can do,” Mr. Graves said and returned the smile.

“I’ll make you some more coffee,” Credence said and went about the kitchen to make them both breakfast.

“I’m aware I promised you I would return in three weeks. I’m sorry I had to break that promise, Credence. It’s hardly an excuse but things have been a little… Hectic, at MACUSA lately.”

“Oh no, that’s alright!” Credence assured him. “You’re the Director of Magical Law Enforcement of the Magical Congress of the United States of America, I completely understand you can’t just Apparate cross-continental at my every beck and call.”

“Credence,” Mr. Graves said as if what Credence had said somehow offended him.

“I’m sorry Mr. Graves, I didn’t mean to say something bad,” he tried but Mr. Graves only huffed a small laugh.

“No, it’s alright, you didn’t. You’ve been brushing up on History of Magic, I take it?”

“Mhm, I’ve read about North America, Britain and Europe as a whole. It’s really interesting actually! I did try my hand at some of the goblin wars as well,” he smiled. “But no Reminaux.”

Mr. Graves laughed and sat down when Credence put a plate of sausages and scrambled eggs in front of him.

“Please, tell me everything you’ve been up to these past few weeks,” Mr. Graves said with a smile and Credence told him.

“So you know how to levitate objects?” Mr. Graves asked, impressed.

“Well, only a little, but yes. I can show you, I guess…”

“Only if you want to. If not, I understand completely, but should you like to, I would feel honoured,” Mr. Graves smiled.

“Okay,” Credence said, feeling his ears turning pink. He drew his wand and pointed it at one of the sausages on his plate. “ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” he chanted and swished his wand and then flicked it to make the sausage lift from the plate.

“Bravo!” Mr. Graves cried and clapped his hands. “Well done, Credence, well done indeed!”

Credence smiled as not only his ears but his cheeks turned bright red.

 

 

The evening sun was warm on his back as he flew with Juliet snapping playfully at his heels. Though spring had not fully arrived yet, it wasn’t far away and the past week had been warm and surprisingly sunny.

After dinner, they had spent the remaining hours of daylight with the dragons, beginning to train them, practice with them, preparing them for returning to the wild. Credence had been running and dodging and flying and laughing and the dragons had chased him and and flown with him.

When he landed, Othello landed next to him and flapped his wings and stirred up a whirlwind of grass and leaves and dirt. Credence only laughed and patted the dragon gently on his big head.

“I think we’ll call it a day now!” Gertie told him as she landed. “Why don’t ye head to the bathroom while I give them some dinner? Ye look like ye rolled yerself in dirt,” she laughed and Credence laughed too as he glanced down at his clothes and hands. He was covered in leaves and twigs and grass and indeed, dirt.

As he headed up the stairs, he felt his heart fluttering in his chest. Tomorrow he would have his first lesson with Mr. Graves. Gertie had refused to let Mr. Graves disturb her schedule. “Today’s Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology!” she had said with a stern frown but she had winked at Credence when Mr. Graves wasn’t looking.

“If I let him come here and uproot every routine we have, it’ll give him far too much power. I’m afraid it might be going to his head,” she had said and smiled conspiratorially at Credence when they had settled in the study for Transfiguration.

He wasn’t sure what he could expect from Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there was a part of him that found the subject a little intimidating as well. But he was really looking forward to tomorrow’s lesson anyway. 

As Credence reached the bathroom at the end of the hallway where his bedroom was, he heard Mr. Graves singing softly from behind the closed door. Just as Credence realized that maybe he should wait in his room instead, the bathroom door opened and there was Mr. Graves, with a look of mild surprise on his face. He had a large, white towel wrapped around his hips and his bare chest was still glistening with water, waterdrops glittering like tiny little crystals in the dark hairs on his chest. His wet hair hung down in his eyes.

“Credence,” he said and a hand went to the towel around his hips, holding it more secure.

Credence stared at his own feet, cheeks and ears going bright red.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Graves, I…” he mumbled to his feet. His big toe was sticking out of his left sock. “I didn’t know you were… uh…”

“It’s quite alright, Credence,” Mr. Graves assured him in a hoarse voice.

Credence noticed a drop of water slowly running down Mr. Grave’s calf. Credence had to swallow hard.

“Well, it’s all yours,” Mr. Graves said and indicated the bathroom with his hand and made to leave.

Credence tried to move out of his way but found himself blocking Mr. Graves’ path once again.

“Sorry,” he stuttered and tried to move to the side, while Mr. Graves did the same.

Mr. Graves gave a small chuckle and Credence felt like he just wanted to sink through the floor.

“Sorry,” he mumbled again.

“No worries,” Mr. Graves said and stepped around him, heading down the hallway finally.

Credence hurried to lock himself in the beautiful bathroom.

It was all white tiles and brass and the setting sun shone through the ornate skylight.

He stepped into the shower and let the water wash over him for a long time before he let his left hand slide down his chest, over the string of black, curly hair from his bellybutton and down, further down.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the white tiles.

Mr. Grave’s muscular body had been covered in scars, probably an occupational hazard after some twenty years service as an Auror, though the most fresh scars were no doubt a mark of the impostor.

Credence couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips.

He had also noticed Mr. Grave’s right knee, around which there had been some sort of leather contraption with silver clasps. He had no idea what it was for, but the image of his wet body sent a shiver down Credence’s spine and he had to clamp his right hand down hard over his mouth to soften the sound of his desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! It's not long, but it's kinda sweet and I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think!
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers!


	13. Defence Against the Dark Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence learns about Defense Against The Dark Arts and goes to a pub for the first time in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been on quite a lot of trains and busses of late, giving me some time to write and here we are, Mr. Graves is here and it's time for DADA!
> 
> Hope you like this chapter. Working on the next one as we speak! :D

“Now, let’s start with the basics, as I’m sure you’re familiar with doing with every subject these past few weeks,” Mr. Graves said as they were seated in the library this time. “Magic used with malicious intent to harm others, is, simply put, called ‘Dark Arts’. Defending oneself in say a duel, does not, per se, qualify as ‘Dark Arts’, unless you practice an ‘Unforgivable Curse’ or use especially cruel spells. Practitioners of the Dark Arts usually stop at nothing to get what they desire, and they don’t care about who they hurt or kill along the way. Of course, you’ve met such a person.”

“Grindelwald,” Credence said quietly, his voice breaking a little.

“Yes, quite. Credence, if you at any point, feel uncomfortable or unsafe to talk about any of this, tell me so and we’ll call it enough for the day.”

“No, please Mr. Graves, I don’t want to stop now,” Credence said and tried to smile. He really didn’t want to stop, he could listen to Mr. Graves all day.

“We’ll carry on for as long as you wish, but please know you can stop me whenever you want to,” Mr. Graves smiled weakly. “Do you remember anything of Grindelwald?”

“He was cruel and… Cold? And he fought Newt and Tina,” Credence said.

Mr. Graves nodded and hummed.

“Yes, that fight, that is commonly called a duel. Now, not all duels aim to hurt or kill the opponent, there are duelling clubs and sporting events, but as I’m sure you’re aware, Grindelwald’s intent was quite the opposite.”

Credence nodded. He remembered the cold fury that had danced in those dark brown eyes that he had thought were Mr. Graves’.

“The Dark Arts also consist of magic of unspeakable cruelty and viciousness and it usually falls upon the innocent. But there are ways to protect oneself, perhaps not from everything that might come in one’s way, but against most of it at least.”

And Mr. Graves told him of shielding spells and disarming spells and of something called a “Patronus charm”. He showed him what magical shields looked like and what a disarming spell was by making Credence’s wand fly out of his hand. And then Mr. Graves looked at Credence and smiled.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” he said and Credence yelped and scurried backwards as a giant cougar-like creature made entirely out of white, pearlescent light leapt out of the air towards him.

“This is a Patronus,” explained Mr. Graves. “It’s a very advanced form of defensive magic, and not many can manage a corporeal Patronus. They can be used to send messages as well, he said and flicked his wand, and the Patronus leapt through the door. In an instant, Gertie Apparated into the study.

“What’s wrong?” she nearly shouted, her hands bloody from the raw meat she was holding.

“Nothing,” Mr. Graves said and though he did a stellar job of keeping his facial muscles in check, Credence could clearly tell his eyes were glittering mischievously. “I’m simply teaching Credence about Patronuses and basic defense magic,” he explained in an innocent voice.

“Ye fecking bastard!” Gertie snapped and threw the chunks of meat at him, but Mr. Graves turned them into a flock of canaries with a flick of his hand.

“Ye scared me half to death!” she growled. “I thought… Ye arse!” she cried and Credence was alarmed to see tears in her eyes. 

“Gertie, I’m sorry. It was meant as a joke, I’m sorry.”

“Go feck yerself,” Gertie hissed and Disapparated.

“Patronuses can be used to call for help, it the caster is under attack. I should have known better. Credence, will you excuse me while I…?” Mr. Graves trailed off and when Credence nodded, he Disapparated on the spot, leaving Credence alone with only the canaries fluttering above his head.

 

 

When Mr. Graves returned, he smiled apologetically but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry. It was rather tactless of me to cast my Patronus and send it to Gertie like that. But I think she’s forgiven me now. These spells I showed you, they’re rather advanced and we shan’t attempt them just yet.”

“Mr. Graves?” Credence asked then. “I’ve been looking at these books, but there is nothing in here about ‘Unforgivable curses’. What are those?”

Credence had let the canaries out through the window and then he’d gone through the books Mr. Graves had picked out for Defence against the Dark Arts, but none of them had even mentioned Unforgivable Curses.

“There are three Unforgivable Curses. The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse, the latter being rather self-explanatory. The Imperius Curse, when cast properly, will render the person subject to it, defenseless and at the will of the person who cast it. Simplified, one could say that the Imperius Curse is a mind-controlling curse, the subject no longer has a will of their own or can make even the smallest decision. They are but a puppet in the hands of the person who cast it.”

“So you can make someone do anything you want if you cast the Imperius Curse on them?” Credence asked, aghast.

“Yes,” Mr. Graves said and cast his eyes down. The sorrow that passed over his face told Credence everything. “The Cruciatus Curse is a curse used for torture, simply put. It makes every single muscle in your body feel like it is on fire and your head feels like it might explode, you lose all concept of time and in the end, all you wish for is to die as long as the pain just stops.”

“He used them on you, didn’t he?” Credence said quietly.

“He did, among other things, yes,” Mr. Graves sighed. “It takes immense power to keep someone under an Imperius Curse for weeks without reinforcing it every now and then by being in close proximity to the subject. I’ve been told it took them three weeks to find me when Grindelwald had been exposed.” Mr. Graves’ voice was strangely detached when he spoke. 

“Do you remember anything from it?” Credence knew he shouldn’t ask but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Only bits and pieces. Being under the Imperius Curse is a little like being asleep, your mind is lulled by this intoxicating mist and when under it for a longer period of time, you tend to drift in and out of yourself.”

Mr. Graves drew a shuddering breath and Credence found himself at a loss for words. 

“Shall we return to the simpler spells?” Mr. Graves said then and smiled but the smile still didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sure!” Credence agreed and did his best to smile back.

 

Apparently, Gertie hadn’t really forgiven Mr. Graves, because just as Credence was about to fall asleep, he could hear them shouting at each other from the end of the hall.

“He deserves better!” Credence heard Mr. Graves shout.

“Yes he does! Ye’ve been treating him like shite and still, he’d do anything for ye! The least ye can do is give him his shot at happiness!” Gertie shot back at him.

“I’ll never be good enough for him, I’ll only keep breaking promises and hurting him, can’t you see that?”

“Well ye have to try at least, don’t ye? Ye can’t just feckin’ give up like that because ye’re afraid ye might hurt him. Well feckin’ try to do good by him then!”

Credence sighed. He really hated it when they argued.

“Don’t ye see, ye bastard? One day, ye might be coming home to find his Patronus flickering over his dead body, sustained by Merlin knows what and it’ll all be too late!”

Credence swallowed. That’s why Gertie was so upset, he realized, because of the Patronus. Because of Alice.

“Oh Lord,” Credence whispered to himself.

“Can’t ye see that? Don’t ye dare waste this because ye think ye’re not good enough, because one day it’ll be too late and ye can’t take it back and ye’ll spend the rest of yer life regretting it!” Gertie shouted at Mr. Graves.

In her voice, Credence heard sorrow and as he got up to close his door, he caught sight of Gertie before she slammed the door to her room. Her eyes were red and swollen and he could tell she was still crying. Credence felt his insides twist with sympathy. He wished there was something he could do to help.

 

The next morning, Credence found a tired and irritable Mr. Graves in the kitchen. He had dark circles under his eyes.

Mr. Graves was reading a newspaper and barely looked up when Credence greeted him. Mr. Graves only hummed in response. Then he sighed and folded the newspaper and put it aside.

“I’m sorry, Credence,” he said and sighed again. “Good morning.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Credence asked and tried to smile.

“No thank you, I’m all set,” Mr. Graves said and tapped a cup with the knuckle of his index finger.

They sat in silence for a long time, Credence slowly chewing a piece of bread and sipping his tea, Mr. Graves reading the newspaper again.

“Mr. Graves?” Credence said after a long while and Mr. Graves seemed to flinch.

“Yes, Credence?” he said though, but Credence could hear there was something strange to his voice.

“I’ve been meaning to ask to you… Mr. Graves, when you do magic, you rarely use your wand, or even say the words. It’s like you just make it _happen_. How do you do that?”

“It’s called non-verbal magic and wandless magic. It takes a considerate amount of practice before one can master it, and to be honest, some witches and wizards never get the hang of it. As an Auror engaged in a duel, it comes quite in handy, not having to shout the incantation or reveal with the movement of your wand, what you intend to do. If combined with Occlumency, few opponents can anticipate your intentions. But even I need a wand when duelling for any length of time or for more advanced magic,” he added and gave a small smile that still didn’t reach his eyes.

“Occlumency?”

“The art of shielding one’s mind from anyone trying to pry about.”

“The opposite of Queenie?” Credence asked, surprised.

“Yes, quite. Miss Goldstein is a born Legilimens, that means she has quite the knack for Legilimency, which, as I’m sure you’re aware, is the art of, well simply put, seeing into another’s mind.”

“So you can what, learn to block Queenie out?”

“Indeed. She does have to put up quite a fight with my mind, if I may say so myself. I’m not the Director of Magical Law Enforcement for nothing,” he added and there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes now and Credence couldn’t help but laughing.

“So, Mr. Graves…” Credence began but Mr. Graves flinched again.

“Don’t call me ‘Mr. Graves’!” he snapped then.

Credence only stared, taken aback.

“I’m sorry…” he tried.

“Don’t! Don’t apologize. Don’t!”

“But I’m…”

“Just. Please. Stop calling me ‘Mr. Graves’. Every time you do, you remind me of…” he trailed off. “He replaced me and you didn’t even notice,” he scoffed and there was something manic to his eyes now.

“I’m sorry, Mr…”

“No! Don’t apologize, Credence! This is not your fault! It’s mine. For three days, I was replaced by one of the worst wizards of our time, and you didn’t notice. How badly did I treat you before he turned up if you couldn’t even tell the difference?”

“You didn’t…”

“Yes I did. Yes, I did, Credence. I treated you just as badly as he did. And I’m sorry. I can never make that up to you, I can never apologize enough for what you went through because of me.” His voice broke towards end.

They were silent for a long while until Mr. Graves sighed and gave Credence a smile that still didn’t reach his beautiful dark eyes.

“I’ve hardly got the right to ask, but Credence, will you henceforth please stop calling Mr. Graves?” 

“I’ll try. But… It just feels so strange, I mean, you’re ‘Mr. Graves’ to me and… Well,” Credence shrugged.

“I know it might be a little silly of me, but every time you say ‘Mr. Graves’ I’m reminded of how I treated you before and the man I was before, the man that everyone mistook Grindelwald for, and to be frank, it’s a rather painful reminder. Call it vanity if you will, but I doubt only but a few prefers to be thought of as a villain.”

“You’re not a villain,” Credence protested.

“I wasn’t exactly the warmest of character though, was I?”

“No, but… You’re the Director of Magical Law Enforcement! I’d never expect you to be anything else than you are.”

“That is a title, Credence, a title I made into being me, but it’s not. I’m also just Percival, and I’d like to try and be more of that man when I’m not in the Woolworth building.”

“Perce!” Gertie popped her head through the kitchen door. “Sitting-room! Picquery!”

“She’s here?” Credence asked incredulously as Mr. Graves swiftly disappeared into the hallway and Gertie sat down with a heavy sigh.

“No, not really. Her head’s in the fireplace, one of the perks of the Floo Network.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Confirmed sightings of Grindelwald,” Gertie said in a strangely flat voice.

“Where?”

“Washington.”

“He’s leaving, isn’t he?”

“Yep.”

Credence ran to the sitting-room just in time to see the gorgeous man grip his fob watch.

“I’m sorry, Credence, I have to go,” he said and those brown eyes locked with his for a beat.

“Percival!” Credence pleaded, but he was already gone.

 

 

Overhead, the dragons were flying around the castle in the setting sun. They had grown rather big now. They lived in the garden now, and Gertie had taken extra precautions with a few more spells so that if any muggle looked up at the castle on the hill, they would see regular birds and not dragons. Esther and Elsa had been by and together the three of them had cast a barrier stretching across all the lands belonging to the castle so the dragons had vast fields and forests to fly over but they couldn’t pass through the barrier.

“They’re still too young,” Gertie had explained but Credence didn’t protest. He knew it was for their own good.

Gertie stretched her back and yawned before she whistled and the dragons came soaring down. 

“Look at you,” she cooed and tossed them rather large chunks of meat.

“I thought we could go down to the pub tonight,” she said, turning to Credence.

“The pub?”

“Yeah, down in the village. It’ll be packed with muggles of course, but they have a rather nice whiskey down there.”

“Sure,” Credence said, Gertie’s smile warming him.

Gertie held out her arm to him.

“Come along, Credence!” she grinned.

As Credence took her arm, the world spun and he felt darkness pressing at him from all sides before it suddenly let go and he found himself standing in front of a small cosy-looking brick building. He could hear laughter and music coming from inside.

“I’ve never been to a pub before,” he told Gertie with a small smile.

“Well it’s about damn time then!” she laughed and steered him inside.

“Michael!” she called and waved to a dark-skinned young man behind the bar. “Michael, this is my friend Credence,” she added and nudged Credence in his ribs.

“Hello Credence,” the young man said in a thick, scottish accent, and smiled.

“Hi,” Credence answered and shook the young man’s hand.

“Two firewhiskeys, Michael!” Gertie grinned and gave the man the kind of money Credence had learned was wizarding money.

“Gertie,” he whispered as Michael poured the glasses. “That’s not muggle-money.”

“I know. I never said the owners were muggles, just the patrons.”

“Oh, I didn’t... “

“Michael’s in his last year at Hogwarts. He just goes home over the weekends to help out in the pub.”

“Oh,” Credence said and couldn’t help but glancing at the young man again. His black hair was cropped short on the sides but the top of his head was full of dark curls. In each ear, a golden ring gleamed in the dim light in the pub. Michael looked up and met Credence’s eyes and winked and grinned and Credence felt his ears go pink.

“Here you are, Credence!” Michael said and pushed the two small glasses at him.

“Thank you,” he stammered and cast his eyes down. Apart from Percival, Credence had never really seen a man that gorgeous.

Gertie had found them a table in the corner.

“Are ye hungry, Credence? We haven’t had dinner yet.”

Before Credence had time to answer, a beautiful, full-figured woman with even darker skin than Michael came up to the table.

“Gertie!” the woman said and Gertie got up to give her a hug.

“Rosalie,” Gertie smiled. “Rosalie, this is Credence. Credence, this is Rosalie, the owner of this fine establishment!”

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said and got up from his chair to shake her hand.

“American?” the woman laughed. “Me too! Where you from little one?”

“New York.”

“Oh, I ain’t been to New York for decades! Welcome to Scotland, Credence!”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh none of that now, honey. Rosalie will do just fine!” the woman smiled and Credence thought he detected a hint of a southern accent. “You hungry? Michael!”

“Yeah, Ma?”

“Tell Pete we need two shepherd's pies!”

“Right away!” Michael answered and managed to catch Credence’s eyes again and wink at him. Credence felt his ears go pink again.

“So, Credence,” Gertie said when Michael had returned some time later with their pies. “Tomorrow, I’m going away for a while. And I distinctly remember promising ye that ye could come if ye wanted to.”

Credence only stared at her in surprise for a moment before it dawned on him.

“You’re going to Hogwarts?”

“Yep. Wanna come?” Gertie grinned.

“Yes. Yes please!” Credence cried excitedly. “But… How… How are we getting there?”

“We’ll be flying of course. Esther thinks ye’re ready for a long distance flight like that.”

“But how will we get Juliet and Othello and Hamlet with us?”

“They’ll fly too,” Gertie laughed.

“But what if anyone sees them?”

“We’ll only fly after dark. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, maybe three.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to Hogwarts,” Credence sighed.

“Well, believe it or not, ye’re going,” Gertie smiled and held out her small glass of firewhiskey.

Credence clinked his glass against hers and swallowed the contents in one big gulp. It made his insides feel warm and burning, but not in an unpleasant way and made him feel rather good.

He glanced over to the bar, where he found Michael was looking at him. He smiled at the young man and when Michael winked at him again, Credence laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, tell me what you think!
> 
> This is one of my favourite little gold nuggets, the scene in the kitchen. I love working with grumpy, haughty Graves and then letting his humanity seep through.
> 
> (And as a small token of my appreciation, I'd like to give a small hint that I'm having all these wondrous images in my mind that might prompt me to write a prequel to this..... Which wasn't my intention when I started out but hey, the mind takes to amazing places!)
> 
>  
> 
> Loads of love!


	14. Draco Domiens Nunquam Titillandus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence pays a brief visit to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems, I'm on a roll! So I'm going with the flow as long as it lasts! Hope you like this chapter.

“Just up ahead!” Gertie shouted and Credence’s jaw dropped as the magnificent castle suddenly loomed ahead of him in the darkness.

Lights gleamed in some windows and the towers and Credence laughed. He could never have imagined anything like this.

Below him, a vast lake seemed to surround most of the castle and the reflection of the night sky with all its stars glittered like diamonds in the dark water.

“This way!” Gertie called to him as she dove to the right.

As they passed over huge, wrought-iron gates flanked by two stone pillars with winged hogs, Credence heard a soft humming sound around him and he realized that they must have passed through some sort of magical barrier.

The dragons zoomed around him, Juliet keeping closest to him and when they got closer to the ground, she seemed to hover just above him.

With a soft thud, he and Gertie landed in front of a small hut at the edge of a vast forest. A door opened and let out a rectangle of light. And then a silhouette of a small, hunched over woman appeared in the middle of the doorway.

“Gertie!” the woman called in a voice cracked by old age.

“Henny,” Gertie grinned and dismounted her broom.

Overhead the dragons squawked and flapped their wings. 

“Oh look at them little beauties!” the woman cried and clapped her hands. “I’ve already put the shields up, come on, what are ye waiting for?” She took a bucket from just inside the door and then waved to them to follow her to a space behind the hut where a rather large enclosure simmered at the edges because of the shielding spell surrounding it.

Henny held out the bucket and rattled it at the dragons.

“Come on you little lovelies! That’s it, come on!”

As the dragons approached the woman and her bucket, Henny passed it over to Gertie who started throwing the large chunks into the enclosure. The dragons followed without hesitation.

“I got three goats from a farmer outside of Hogsmeade so they’ll have plenty to eat for the night,” the woman grinned and waved to Credence and Gertie to follow her into the hut.

It was a small and cosy hut with only one room with a large fireplace on the one side with a comfortable-looking armchair nearby and a bed on the other side. In the middle of the hut was a large, wooden table with several mismatched chairs around it. In the ceiling there were traps and pots and pans and all sorts of things and Credence thought he even saw a crossbow. 

“Tea?” the woman asked and in the light from the fire and numerous candles floating about mid-air, Credence could see her more clearly. She was a full head and a half shorter than him, hunched over with white hair sticking out in every direction. Her skin was tan and weathered like leather, wrinkly and full of liver spots. Her hands were bony and bent and reminded Credence of skeletons. She looked centuries old but she moved with a surprising spring to her step.

Large mugs, bread, jam, cheese and butter were wobbling through the air to settle down on the table.

“Kettelburn’s on probation,” Henny said as she settled on the chair closest to the fireplace. “Again,” she added.

Gertie laughed so hard she got tears in her eyes.

“What’s that, his fourth time in two years?” she snickered.

Henny grinned and winked her eye at Credence.

“Silvanus Kettleburn was a first-year during my sixth,” Gertie told but couldn’t keep from laughing. “He’s a bit… Well. Let’s put it this way, I’m not surprised he’s on probation again. He’s the Care of Magical Creatures professor,” she added.

“He lost two fingers last week,” Henny said with a rather wicked grin on her wrinkled face. Gertie threw her head back and roared with laughter.

“Credence, ye must think I’m a right arsehole but believe me, when ye meet him, ye’ll understand.”

“Oh, you won’t meet him, boy, he’s in the Hospital Wing, Lucy won’t discharge him until he stops being violet, in case whatever it is he’s got now is contagious,” Henny chuckled.

Gertie was laughing so hard, Credence thought she might fall off her chair.

“I’m Henny by the way,” the woman said and reached out a bony hand for him to shake. “You must be Credence.”

“Yes, hi. Nice to meet you,” Credence said politely and shook the woman’s hand. He wasn’t quite sure he liked her.

“I heard there’s been sightings of a Swedish Shortsnout in Stockholm,” Henny said then, turning back to Gertie with a grin. “Apparently, it’s been seen outside several jazz clubs.”

“I might have known,” Gertie said, her eyes glittering mischievously. “But in me defense, that was all Alice’s doing. She insisted on playing the little one jazz all the time. Esther and Elsa’s uncle stumbled upon a raided Shortsnout nest with one small egg surviving, that’s how I met them actually. They brought the little tyke to me and Alice kept playing her jazz. She insisted on naming her Ethel as well,” Gertie finished with a small smile.

“It’s a damn shame about Alice,” Henny said and waved her wand, making a bottle of firewhiskey hobble over to them through the air. “A damn shame,” Henny muttered and poured them each a glass.

Credence felt the warmth spread in his chest as he knocked back the little glass like the women did. Henny topped them off but Credence only shook his head.

“No, thank you, I’m good with one,” he said and tried to stifle a yawn.

“Guestroom’s upstairs if you’re tired, boy,” Henny said with a kind smile.

“Ye don’t have another floor,” Gertie laughed.

“I do now,” Henny grinned and pointed to the back-door and sure enough, right next to it was a steep stair leading up to the floor above.

“Well,” Credence said and yawned again. “If you don’t find it rude of me, I think I might actually tuck in for the night.”

“Nah, not all. Ye head up. Sleep tight,” Gertie smiled.

 

 

“Good morning, class,” Gertie said to the fifth years in front of them. “I’m Professor Halloran, and this here is my assistant, Mr. Barebone,” she added and winked at Credence when no one was looking.

The first hour, they had the fifth year-students from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Gertie did all the talking and the students scribbled away eagerly. Credence helped her keep the dragons calm. He was standing inside the shielded enclosure, whereas the students were standing right outside it.

Othello and Hamlet weren’t too fond of the attention and kept flying as high as the shield would allow them and were reluctant to come down even when Credence tossed them chunks of meat, but Juliet circled close and after a while she landed behind him, blowing a cloud of smoke at the back of his neck. The students gasped and took a few steps back.

The dragons had grown immensely, they were now each the size of a small horse.

“Mr. Barebone, will you bring her out?” Gertie said then and the students took another few steps back.

Credence gave Gertie an uncertain look but nodded.

“Come on girl,” he said and turned around to let her sniff his palm. “Wanna go flying with me?”

Juliet butted his hand with her head several times and blew another cloud of smoke.

Credence walked out of the enclosure, Juliet following him closely. To his surprise, the shield let her pass through.

He mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Juliet soared past him. The students gasped as Credence and Juliet flew in a circle above them.

As soon as they landed, Gertie tossed a large chunk of meat in the air and Juliet barely had to leave the ground to catch it.

“Mr. Barebone, if you please.”

Credence stroked Juliet’s snout again and then he tickled her under her chin.

“There you go girl,” he whispered and she puffed smoke at him before she threw her head back and let out a mighty roar. One of the students fainted.

“That’ll be all for now, Mr. Barebone,” Gertie grinned and Credence led Juliet back into the enclosure.

As soon as the fainted student had been brought back to consciousness, Gertie told them all of the work she had done in the army, and what it was like raising and training dragons to survive on their own.

When there was only fifteen minutes left, Gertie allowed questions and Credence was surprised to find the students asked him just as many questions as they asked Gertie.

“This way, Credence,” Gertie said when they headed up to the castle for lunch. He felt very excited to get to see the castle, they hadn’t been up there yet since they had had breakfast with Henny down in the hut.

“Woah,” Credence sighed as they walked through the big oak doors leading to the Entrance hall. There were paintings and portraits, all moving about and whispering to themselves. Credence couldn’t tear his eyes from them and then suddenly it felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water over his head and someone cleared their throat indignantly.

“Mind where you’re going, boy! It’s not very nice just walking through someone like that!”

“Credence, this is Nearly Headless Nick,” Gertie said and when Credence turned around, he saw a man behind him.

But it couldn’t be a man, because he was all transparent and white and pearlescent and he… Was floating above the floor!

“I prefer ‘Sir Nicholas de Mimsy...” the floating man protested but trailed off when he recognized Gertie.

“Miss Halloran! It’s been years! One of my favourite Gryffindors, I must say, though you did have quite the talent for landing yourself in trouble, you know, making Professor Dumbledore withdraw far too many points from our noble house.”

“Yeah, those were the days,” Gertie grinned. “We’d best be getting some lunch. He’s a ghost,” she added as they headed for the Great Hall. “He’s the ghost of Gryffindor Tower. This way, now.”

As they entered the Great Hall, Credence had to stop and stare. 

“There’s no ceiling,” he said, looking up into the sunny sky above.

“Yes there is, but it’s enchanted to look like the sky,” Gertie smiled and tugged on his arm. “Gryffindor table, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. But we’ll be eating up there,” she added and pointed to a large table where Credence realized all the teachers were seated.

“Gertrude Halloran! I must say you look rather well,” a kind-looking man with piercing blue eyes, half-moon spectacles and a reddish beard, so long it reached down on his chest, and auburn hair streaked with silver in a long braid, said as they reached the table.

“Hello, Professor,” Gertie smiled and shook the man’s hand.

“You must be Credence Barebone,” the kind-looking man said and held out his hand to Credence. “Albus Dumbledore.”

“Hello,” Credence said and smiled. It felt so strange to actually meet the man he had heard so much about.

“Has Gertrude given you full tour of the castle?” the man smiled back at him.

“Not yet,” Credence admitted as they sat down and started to tuck in on the many dishes of food that were already on the table.

“I figured we’d get to that now,” Gertie said, her mouth already full of mashed potatoes. “We don’t have any more classes today.”

“So I hear Gertrude has taken it upon herself to tutor you?”

“Yes, she has. It’s very kind of her,” Credence answered, feeling his ears going slightly pink.

“I gather she engages in teaching you Transfiguration and Care of Magical Creatures?”

“And a little Herbology,” Credence added.

“Ah yes, of course.”

“He turned a match into a needle in his first week,” Gertie interjected proudly.

“How long have you been practicing?” Professor Dumbledore asked with a kind smile.

“About four weeks maybe,” Credence said, nodding to himself. “Well, this would be the fifth.”

“Well done indeed, Credence.”

“Thank you,” Credence told his small mountain of mashed potatoes, his ears going more pink by the second. As he glanced out over the Great Hall, his eyes landed suddenly on Michael, who gave him a sort of upwards nod and winked, flashing him a smile that made Credence’s heart skip a beat.

After lunch, as promised, Gertie showed him around the castle. He was sure they were lost several times, but Gertie seemed to know her way around the castle like she had spent her whole life there. She showed him the Gryffindor Tower after getting the password and a special admittance paper from Professor Dumbledore. She showed him the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower but they didn’t try to get in there. She took him to the kitchens where he met hundreds of house-elves who were all scurrying to give him anything he might want to eat. Credence was allowed to roam the vast library, much to his delight and Gertie laughed when he found the Restricted Section and sighed as he couldn’t enter. Gertie took him down to the Quidditch pitch and they took a few laps on their brooms and Gertie had managed to borrow a rattling case from the professor responsible for flying lessons. Credence eyed the rattling case warily but Gertie assured him there wasn’t a boggart in there. When she opened it, Credence could see three balls in there, two were straining to break free from the chains keeping them down. She spent a good hour going through the basics of Quidditch with him, and before they headed back up to the castle for dinner, he had managed to both score with the quaffle and hit one of the bludgers so hard it took it a good couple of minutes to return.

 

First thing next morning, they had the N.E.W.T-level sixth years from all the houses. This time, all three dragons joined Credence when he kicked off from the ground. They soared high above him and then suddenly, Juliet dove and headed straight for the students who screamed and scrambled away, but she pulled up at the last minute, her tail whipping just inches from the head of the tallest of the students. Credence couldn’t help laughing.

After lunch they had the fifth years from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. When Juliet puffed smoke on them, a couple of them backed away very quickly. Gertie stroked Othello just behind the spikes on his head and whispered something and he flicked his tongue at her before he flew straight into the shielded enclosure and breathed fire all over the ground, positively incinerating the grass inside the enclosure. The students cheered and clapped.

At every meal, Michael managed to catch his eye and wink at him and making Credence’s ears go pink.

On the Wednesday, they had the third years all day and Gertie made sure the dragons stayed in the enclosure for those classes. In the evening, she and Credence flew with them over the lake and the mountains to let them stretch their wings a little.

On the Thursday, they had the fourth years and they kept the lessons pretty basic that day as well, except Juliet was very eager to fly so Gertie told Credence to take her out for a bit. Of course, it turned out, Juliet wasn’t just eager to fly but also to dive as close to the students as she could. Credence couldn’t help laughing when he saw the dragon looking positively thrilled as the students screamed. But when he whistled, she returned immediately and Credence knew it was just a game to her and she had no intention of harming the students, at least not for now.

On the Friday, they had the N.E.W.T-level seventh year students and Credence felt his heart skip a beat when he realized Michael was among the group. Since these were last year students, they were even allowed to touch Hamlet, who was the calmest and least mischievous of the three. Credence made sure he was occupied with the chunks of meat he had in a bucket as the students gingerly approached him one by one, guided by Gertie. Michael kept catching his eye and Credence wanted to kick himself for glancing over at the young man so often.

At lunch, Gertie asked Professor Dumbledore if he knew someone who might be interested in tutoring Credence in Potions. Professor Dumbledore said he might know someone and promised to get back to her on that note.

His last afternoon at Hogwarts, Credence spent in the library. He had fallen completely in love with it and it saddened him to think he would be leaving it all behind tonight. As he got up to return the book he had been taking notes from, he bumped into Michael.

“Hey Creedence,” he said, smiling and his thick accent sent a small shiver down Credence’s spine.

“Hey Michael,” Credence answered, his ears going pink. He found he had more trouble holding Michael’s gaze than he had even with Percival.

“Professor Halloran says you’re leaving after dark,” Michael said, a tone to his voice that Credence couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah, we’ll be heading… home,” Credence said and found he was rather out of breath. Wasn’t Michael standing very close?

“Maybe I’ll see you down at the pub then?”

“Yeah sure!” Credence said and smiled, hugging the book tight to his chest.

“Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure!”

“Want me to get that for you?” Michael asked and when Credence nodded, the young man flicked his wand, making the book fly back on its own.

And then, before Credence even had the chance to realize what he was doing, Michael pressed his soft lips against Credence’s, his hands cupping Credence’s face. Michael’s hands slid down Credence’s chest to finally rest on his hips. Michael pulled him impossibly close and Credence felt his back suddenly pressing against the bookshelf behind him. He gasped for breath against Michael’s lips and let his hands finally roam over the young man’s chest. Michael kissed him again, eagerly, hungrily and as he pressed his entire body against Credence, he could clearly feel the young man’s arousal against his thigh.

And yet, Credence felt nothing of the sort. Though he could hardly deny that he enjoyed kissing Michael, he didn’t feel the same urgency and hunger as Michael. Even though Michael was so stunningly handsome it almost hurt to look at him, he just wasn’t… Percival, Credence realized.

He gently pressed his hands against Michael’s chest and the young man slowly pulled away from him.

”I’m sorry but… I…” Credence said hoarsely.

”Don’t be,” Michael smiled. ”I figured you probably already had a beau, but you know, I had to try at least.”

Credence laughed and the young man stroked his cheek with a feather-light touch.

“Take care, Credence,” he said and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Credence said, holding him back. “Thank you,” he said and gave Michael a quick kiss on the cheek before he went down to Henny’s little hut and the dragons waiting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one of those really difficult chapters to write, because I'm dealing with well-known characters and it's so difficult trying to catch them. 
> 
> But I'm quite satisfied with the little Dumbledore-cameos and with Nearly Headless Nick. (Humble bragging isn't really my thing, apparently.)
> 
>  
> 
> If you're wondering about Kettleburn, I'm picturing him as being in his early 20s, maybe 25 at the most. It doesn't really specify when previous teachers were born, and I have scoured the internet and after a while decided to make my own timelines for characters I want to use.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, your comments and thoughts are most welcome.
> 
> Loads of love!


	15. Dark worry, silver mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Credence and Gertie get a surprise visit and Credence learns something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, a small word of caution; Descriptions of physical and mental abuse will be a part of this chapter. It's not ongoing however, rather a ghost of past happenings. But I'd still like to give a heads-up.
> 
>  
> 
> Secondly, this is one of my favourite chapters and I hope you like it.

“Against my mother’s wish, I might add. She wasn’t too fond of me quitting Hogwarts like that. But ye know, I got to work with dragons. Ukrainian Ironbellies with Newt, mostly, but then I was in charge of the Horntail-division for a while,” Gertie told him one morning over breakfast when Credence had asked her about the picture of her in a soldier’s uniform.

“But… You’re a woman,” Credence said, chewing his lower lip tentatively. 

Gertie roared with laughter.

“Yeah, well. At first, they had this ridiculous rule that witches couldn’t join, so I just did a small Transfiguration-number and told them my name was Percival Graves,” she chuckled.

“You did?”

“Aye. Of course, when me uncle turned up and wanted to join as well, things became rather interesting,” Gertie laughed. “It turned out, they had about a hundred witches in the army already, all of them in disguise, some of them having been awarded medals for bravery even. They changed that silly rule after that.” She was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes and Credence laughed with her.

Then Gertie suddenly stopped laughing and the teacup she had been about to drink from, slipped from her hand, shattering against the floor, sending broken china and tea flying everywhere.

“Gertie?”

But she didn’t seem to hear him. She stared emptily in front of her, her hand going to the silver pendant around her neck. Credence had never seen her look that afraid.

“Gertie, what’s wrong?”

She began pacing about the kitchen, breathing loudly. In the garden, he heard the dragons roar, probably sensing her state of mind.

“Gertie, please! What’s going on?”

She finally looked at him then as if she hadn’t realised until now, that he was there.

“Something bad’s happened,” she whispered hoarsely.

“How do you know?”

“He’s in danger,” she muttered to herself and Credence could tell there were tears in her eyes.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. The pendant goes warm when he’s in danger. He gave it to me after… It’s how I know he’s alright. Every day, he presses it and it… Well… It sort of hums a little and then I know everything is fine. But now… ”

“It’s warm,” Credence finished for her when her voice broke. “But you don’t know what happened.”

“No.”

“Can’t we contact MACUSA? Like President Picquery used Floo to call him back?”

“No. I don’t have the clearance to get past their security.”

And then she gave an angry roar full of frustration and agony and fear and threw everything she could find on a nearby counter to the floor. She leaned against the countertop with her back against him and Credence could see her shoulders trembling.

“Hey,” he said and got up from his seat. “Hey, don’t worry.” He stroked her over her shoulders and back and gently made her turn around so he could hug her. He held her tight and rocked her slowly, stroking her back as she cried. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Newt always says, if you worry, you…. Oh, never mind.”

 

They were waiting. For what, Credence didn’t really know. Gertie sat in the window of the sitting room, just like Percival did in the picture. Credence forced himself not to glance at the picture frames, it only made him worry more. He was sitting in one of the armchairs with a book in his lap but when he had read the same page five times without really seeing the words, he gave up and closed it and forgot about it.

Gertie sprang up then and Credence followed her out into the hallway.

“What happened?” she barked just as two women materialized in the vast room.

“Umh…” the dark-haired of the two said.

“Tina!” Credence cried and rushed forward to hug her. “Queenie!”

“Hello honey!” Queenie greeted him softly.

“Gertie, this is…” Credence began but Gertie wasn’t listening.

“What. Happened?” she growled through gritted teeth.

“It was a routine mission,” Tina tried.

“Oh honey, don’t worry, he’s alright. They’ll discharge in a few days,” Queenie smiled.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Gertie bellowed. Credence had never seen her so angry.

“We’re not really sure. But we know he’ll be fine, the medi-wizards are taking care of him and… May I have a word in private with you?” Tina added, clearly uncomfortable.

Gertie didn’t answer but stalked off in the direction of the library and Tina cast Queenie and Credence an uncertain look before she followed.

“How about you and me get some nice cocoa, huh, sweetie?” Queenie said and gave him a warm smile.

“Oh dear,” she said when she came into the kitchen. The pieces of the shattered teacup lay everywhere, the tea had cooled in sticky pools, their breakfast had been left half-eaten on the table and the things Gertie had thrown to the floor, lay scattered still. 

Queenie waved her wand and the teacup reassembled, the pots and pans and bowl of apples returned to the counter and the tea and the leftovers vanished.

It was mesmerizing to watch her gently wave her wand a few times, stirring up cocoa for them both and making some bread rolls that baked mid air before landing on the table.

“How’s Jacob?” Credence asked, remembering the kind man and his wondrous pastries.

“Oh, he’s swell! The bakery is going really well,” she said, turning to give him a small smile. “He proposed two weeks ago.”

“He did? That’s amazing, Queenie! I’m…” he trailed off. “You said no.”

“Well aren’t you quite the Legilimens,” Queenie smiled at him.

“You said no because of Rappaport’s Law didn’t you?”

Queenie turned her back on him but nodded and hummed in response. Credence had noticed the sadness in her eyes even if she tried to hide it.

“Oh Queenie, I’m so sorry,” Credence said and got up from the table to hug her.

“Sweetie, it’s alright. He knows I want to say yes, that’s all that matters. Now, cocoa!”

She waved her wand again and a large cup filled to the brim with steaming hot cocoa and whipped cream wobbled to a stop in front of him as he returned to the table. 

“No, honey, I don’t,” Queenie said then and Credence realized his thoughts had been drifting to Percival, wondering if she knew what had happened. “He really likes you, you know. No, he really does.”

Credence gave a small snort and cast his eyes down. He really didn’t want to talk about what Percival didn’t feel for him.

“Oh sweetie,” Queenie sighed and reached out to stroke his cheek. “If only you could hear what I hear from him.”

“He said you have to put up a good fight against his mind to reach in there,” Credence said, remembering the pride and mischief on Percival’s face as he told him.

“Not when he’s hurting. Usually, I can only hear what he let’s me, but people are easiest to read when they’re hurting, whether they like it or not. Oh, no, not like that, he’s not hurt like that. But he is hurting in here,” Queenie said and brushed her hand across Credence’s chest. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and gave him a long look before she sighed and grasped both his hands in hers.

“It’s not my place to tell you. He should tell you himself. But I’m afraid he might never do it, and I think it will slowly kill him if he doesn’t.”

She squeezed his hands and gave him a small smile.

“He cares for you so much, honey. He misses you all the time. And he’s trying to let you go. He thinks he’s too old for you, and too grumpy and he’s so afraid of hurting you. He wants you to be happy and even though it’s hurting him to think of you being happy with someone else, he wants you to be. Can’t you see, sweetie?”

She let go of his hands and reached for her handbag. From it, she pulled something large and round. Credence had gotten so used to seeing too large objects being fitted into too small spaces to even react anymore.

Queenie placed the disc on the table between them and Credence could tell it was something like a large and shallow bowl. Inside it swirled something silvery white, ceaselessly shifting like leaves in the wind or the waves of the sea, but Credence had never seen anything like it. Queenie touched her wand to the swirling substance and it swirled faster and at the same time it had become see-through like glass.

“I’ll explain later,” she smiled and grasped his hand again. “What can you see?”

“I… Uh… An alley?” Credence said hesitantly as he bent closer. “I… That’s Percival!”

He had indeed seen the gorgeous man and the billowing of his long, black coat before Queenie dipped her hand into the bowl and it felt like the floor beneath him pushed him forwards into what, he didn’t really know and then…

He was staring down an alley in New York, and he could clearly see Percival and… Credence heart seemed to stop as he looked at himself, shoulders hunched, his entire body trembling.

“I remember this,” he told Queenie.

“Credence? You’re shaking. She hurt you again, worse than before. Show me,” Percival said and reached out his hand. The trembling Credence made a small, anguished sound, cradling his left hand. 

“Shh,” Percival whispered and reached for his hand. When his fingers brushed against his skin, the old Credence drew in a sharp breath and bit his lip to keep from screaming.

Credence remembered that pain so well, but it felt strange to see himself like this. It didn’t feel like him anymore. He was watching a trembling, scared boy that was in pain. It wasn’t him anymore.

Anger flashed across Percival’s face as he held Credence’s broken hand in his. Mary-Lou had walked in on him early that morning, when he had thought no one else was awake. She had sworn to beat the sin out of him and she hadn’t stopped until his hand was completely useless, fingers broken and bones shattered by the buckle of his own belt.

Percival murmured quietly, stroking his thumb across the broken hand, over and over, but there was only so much he could do. 

“I can relieve you of most of the pain, but this is beyond even my ability.”

The frightened boy only nodded slowly but the soft, pained sound he made betrayed his hopes evaporating.

“I won’t leave you like this. I know something that will help, but it will not be pleasant. I will have to go to the Woolworth Building to retrieve it but I promise you, I will return.”

The alley seemed to dissolve and reassemble again, with Percival returning in a swirl of smoke.

Credence remembered it so clearly. Percival hadn’t been gone no more than maybe ten minutes but Credence had still been afraid and his hand had still been hurting.

“Here,” Percival said and pressed a small vial into Credence’s hand. “Drink this tonight before you go to bed. It tastes horrible, but you need to drink all of it. And then I need you to be brave, Credence. I need you to brace yourself for a very long and painful night, but it’s the only way you’ll ever be able to use that hand again.”

The boy nodded, his eyes cast to the ground, ashamed of himself. If Percival had known why Mary-Lou had beat him this time, he probably wouldn’t have been so eager to help.

Percival gave the boy a long look and reached out to cup his face in his warm hands.

And then Credence realized what he hadn’t noticed that day in the alley.

“He wanted to…”

“Yes, he did.”

“I must go,” Percival said, his voice strangely hoarse. When the boy nodded, the gorgeous man Disapparated.

The alley dissolved again and Credence found himself standing inside a spacious office, the interior in a stylish monochrome of grays and whites and blacks. Percival was leaning against the desk, his long black coat slung over the chair and his usually neat hair dishevelled, leaving strands of hair falling into his eyes. He drew a shuddering breath and Credence realized the man was fighting very hard to keep back tears. He slammed his fist down on the desk and everything on it shook. Then he straightened up and combed his hair backwards and began pacing about the room.

“Yes!” he snapped as a soft knock was heard.

President Picquery strode into the room. She was dressed in a smart, black suit and a long black coat, quite like the one Percival had thrown over his chair.

“It’s him, Perce,” she said and she looked more tired than Credence would have expected.

“I’ll lead the task force myself,” Percival said through gritted teeth.

“That is not required of you, Director Graves,” President Picquery answered in a much more cold voice.

“I am well aware of that, _madam President_.”

They stared at each other for a long time and Credence couldn’t help but thinking of two wampus cats he and Newt had stumbled upon. The two majestic felines had circled each other in complete silence and Newt had quickly Apparated them to a much safer distance.

“I’m not sure I want to know why you’re suddenly so eager to leave New York but you had best make sure that whatever the reason is, it will not cloud your judgement in the field.”

Percival glared at the woman for a beat before he closed his eyes and drew a long breath.

“It won’t,” he answered curtly and opened his eyes in time to see President Picquery nod.

“Very well,” she said as she strode to the door. “And Percival? Be safe.”

“To the extent of my ability, as always.” The smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes and Credence was sure even the president could see that.

The office dissolved and everything went black.

And then, several wand tips lit up at once, casting long shadows.

Queenie squeezed his hand really hard and Credence watched with dread as a small group of Aurors, with Tina among them, shielded behind a magnificent golden field Credence recognized to be a shielding-spell, made their way slowly up a winding, wooden staircase.

On the top-most landing, they reached a brick wall that seemed to have been there for hundreds of years. Silent spells rained down on the bricks, making the crowded landing as bright as day. Finally, the bricks all caved in with a crashing thud.

When the dust cleared, he could see the small cramped space behind it clearly. A golden orb bobbed in the air. The light it cast flickered and seemed to be close to giving out. From it, a long tendril of golden, flickering light, reached down to something crumpled on the floor.

Tina gasped and rushed forward despite someone warning her not to, and only Queenie’s grip on Credence’s hand kept him from doing the same.

“Director Graves,” Tina whispered and gently stroked the man’s cheek.

Credence felt like his heart might shatter into a million pieces.

Percival, his gorgeous Percival, was lying barefoot in a heap on the floor, covered in dust and filth and dirt and dried blood, his features gaunt, a vacant smile on his lips and his dark eyes staring emptily. His right leg was twisted at an impossible angle and the man was humming tunelessly. His face was full of fading bruises and it seemed his left eye had been swollen shut until recently. He had dried blood all over his chin and nose, the latter obviously broken.

The sleeves of his grimy shirt had been pushed up past his elbows, and his arms were full of cuts and fresh scars. The tendril of flickering, golden light, seemed to be attached to his arm somehow, because it clung to his skin like it was a part of him.

Credence’s stomach gave a sickening lurch as he realized that the tendril wasn’t just clinging to the skin, but was going through it, _into_ the man’s arm.

One of the younger Aurors fell to his knees and retched to the side of Credence.

Percival’s shirt had been ripped open and Credence could clearly see the fading bruises covering his collarbones and chest.

“Director Graves,” Tina whispered but the man didn’t react. “Please, Director Graves.” The worry and fear was making her voice shake and when she glanced back at the group of Aurors for help, Credence could tell she had tears in her eyes.

A burly woman with white, short-cropped hair made her way to the front of the group and pushed Tina aside. She scooped up Percival in her arms like he was a small child.

“Someone get that damn thing out of him!” barked the woman and three Aurors rushed forward and pointed their wands at the golden orb and mumbled incantations until the orb withdrew the long tendril from Percival’s arm.

“Come on now, Director Graves,” the woman murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

Credence felt a hand yank hard on his shoulders and the image dissolved and he found himself standing in Gertie’s kitchen again, Tina scowling at him and Queenie. 

“What in _Merlin’s name_ do you think you’re doing?”

“He deserved to know,” Queenie said, chewing her lip.

“Where did you get a _Pensieve_?”

“Oh, the DMLE’s office,” Queenie answered with an innocent smile.

“You _stole_ Mr. Grave’s Pensieve?” Tina cried and Credence started when he heard Gertie chuckling behind him.

“No, I’m borrowing it without his permission,” Queenie said and winked at Credence.

Gertie chuckled again but Tina still looked caught somewhere between exasperation and anger and somehow being slightly impressed at the same time.

“Well you’ll have to face him when he finds out,” she added finally, with a small smile.

“Oh, I’m not afraid of him, honey,” Queenie said and smiled at Credence again.

“How did he get yer memory of the night ye found him?” Gertie said with an interested look at the shallow metal bowl on the table.

“Umh…” Tina said quietly and cast her eyes down. “He told me no one should have to carry the burden of that memory alone,” she mumbled and to Credence’s surprise Gertie went and hugged Tina really hard.

“Thank ye for taking care of him,” she said hoarsely. 

Queenie had begun to cook them something that smelled absolutely wonderful and Credence felt like his heart might burst with gratitude to the sisters for everything they had done for him. Though his deepest, darkest fears had told him before that they didn’t really like him, they had accepted him into their home without hesitation when Newt brought him, trembling and afraid and hurting all over, to them.

Queenie had hugged him for a long time that evening, until he finally relaxed a little. And she had always known about him, about his feelings. Apparently she had always known about Percival as well and now she had made sure he knew too. He wished there was something he could do to thank Queenie for showing him the memories.

“Oh no honey, you don’t have to! I think you deserved to know,” she smiled at him.

“Credence, where are ye going?” Gertie said as a thought had suddenly crossed his mind and he had made his way to the door.

“The library. I’ll be right back!” he smiled.

 

“Ah-ha!” he cried triumphantly and tapped the book he had been reading in. Apparently, Reminaux hadn’t only written books on History of Magic, but also about the obscure immigration laws of wizarding America.

“Here!” he said as he skidded into the kitchen where the three women were still sitting. “MACUSA can’t do anything about a marriage that has already taken place outside their borders! Here, section 38F.”

“But Credence… That only applies to people immigrating,” Tina said confused.

“Slow down, honey, I can’t read you when you’re this excited,” Queenie laughed.

“It’ll never hold up in court,” Tina said quietly.

“Yes it will. What if we could prove he was a Squib?” Credence said then, pacing about the kitchen. “MACUSA might not allow no-majes and Squibs to marry witches and wizards in America, but,” he continued, stopping to find the right page in the book. “Here! Section 38H. MACUSA doesn’t have the jurisdiction to disband a marriage between a Squib and a witch or wizard, if it takes place on foreign ground.”

“Again, Credence, that only applies to immigration,” Tina began.

“Yes, technically, but Jacob’s family is from Poland, right? What if we could prove he was born outside of America and that he was a Squib? The law doesn’t specify when he has to immigrate, only that he has to. If you get married outside of America, and if we can prove that he’s a Squib, there’s not a damn thing MACUSA can do!” Credence grinned.

Gertie gave a barking laugh at his cursing and Queenie looked at him like he was a knight in shining armour.

“But Jacob isn’t a Squib,” Tina protested. “And he was born in New York.”

“But what if we could _prove_ that he is? And that he was born outside America?” Credence said. Tina looked at him confusedly.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean he has to be,” Gertie said, her eyes glittering mischievously. “As long as there are very official looking papers backing our story, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Exactly!” Credence grinned.

“Aren’t ye becoming quite the little troublemaker? Well done, lad!” Gertie laughed. “Excuse me ladies, I have a few letters to write,” she added and got up from her chair. “Oh and Queenie…” she began but Queenie squealed happily and jumped up from her chair before she could finish.

“We would love to!” she said, positively beaming.

“It’s the least I can do. I’m sure I know a Director who can officiate. If he can stay out of trouble until July, that is,” Gertie smiled and headed to the study.

“What?” Credence smiled.

“She said we could get married here, in the garden,” Queenie beamed and Credence laughed.

Tina didn’t look convinced.

“I’m sure Mr. Graves won’t mind, sweetie,” Queenie answered Tina’s thoughts.

“He’d be breaking the law,” Tina said quietly.

“Honey, he already is.”

“He is?” Credence interrupted them. “How? What did he do?”

“Sweetie, MACUSA thinks you’re dead. Didn’t Newt tell you that’s why we needed to get you out of New York?”

“MACUSA thinks I’m dead? But… Mr. Graves knows I’m not… How did he find out?”

“I thought we shouldn’t tell Mr. Graves, because if he knew, he would have to report you… Queenie convinced us to uh… Tell him,” Tina said and there was a small smile in the corner of her mouth.

“He was so angry,” Queenie told him conspiratorially.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about his Howlers,” Credence smiled, but then his smile faltered. “You’re breaking the law because of me? But if you get caught…”

“They won’t,” Gertie said behind them, grinning. “It was a smart move to bring me uncle up to speed. That means he can keep tabs on any ongoing investigations. I think it’s safe to say ye’re in the clear.”

“Can you imagine, Creedence? I’m in love with a no-maj and Tina and Mr. Graves assisted in smuggling an Obscurial out of New York from right under MACUSA’s nose?” Queenie giggled.

“Well, you did break into Mr. Graves’ office and you smuggled me and Newt and Jacob out of the Woolworth building too,” Tina smiled fondly.

“You did?” Credence asked incredulously.

“She did,” Tina said with a proud smile.

Gertie laughed.

“Ye’ve got interesting friends, Credence,” she chuckled.

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling. “I do.”

 

Tina and Queenie left the same night and though Credence was sad to see them go, he knew they would be back in July and he could hardly wait.

Three days later, the medi-wizards discharged Percival from the hospital and he turned up in the kitchen, his right arm in a sling and his fob watch held awkwardly, a large suitcase his left hand, just in time for tea. 

Gertie hugged him for a long time without saying anything and then she punched him really hard on the shoulder.

“Feckin’ idiot,” she said, crying and laughing at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, it was actually Graves who told Credence about his capture, in the previous chapter. But a close friend of mine kept asking for more gory descriptions and I found it more and more impossible to make Graves say those things himself, so I figured the most vivid picture I could paint, would be if Credence could actually see it. Hence, the Pensieve.
> 
> This story has a fantastic way of evolving without my making it so, and I love it.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, please tell me your thoughts!
> 
> Loads of love!


	16. The skies above are blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, spring is truly here, the skies above are turning blue and Gertie get's a really good laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dears, Christmas comes early this year. I think this might be a chapter you've all been waiting for. So, here you go.

“What’s the matter, Credence?” Percival asked with a kind smile.

“Nothing,” Credence tried to lie but Percival saw right through him, his smile told Credence as much. “Well, it’s just… It feels like cheating when you’re… when your arm is in a sling,” Credence finally admitted.

Percival only laughed.

“Regardless of my injury, I can tell you have been practicing in my absence,” he said and summoned his wand with a soft snap of his fingers.

They were practising the disarming spell Percival had taught him before. Normally, they didn’t teach the first-years that, but as Percival said, Credence wasn’t a child and he had already come to gain first-hand knowledge of situations where disarming spells would have come quite in handy to say the least.

“Would you like to try your hand at something more advanced?” Percival asked, still smiling kindly.

“Yes,” Credence said in a in an irritated voice. “Yes, please,” he added with a small sigh.

“Why don’t we take a short break, Credence?” Percival said, giving him a bemused look. 

Credence heaved a frustrated sigh but nodded nonetheless and stepped through the open glass door out into the warm garden. Spring had come weeks ago and turned it into a blooming paradise, bumblebees humming by, and birds chirping in the trees.

Ever since Queenie showed him what was in the Pensieve, he had found it even more difficult than usual to sleep, partly because the haunting image of Percival being so utterly defeated, so robbed of dignity and the pride and power with which he always carried himself, wouldn’t leave him alone.

But mostly, Credence had found it difficult sleeping because of that other thing Queenie had showed him.

Percival had wanted to kiss him.

He had been inches away from following it through but had stopped himself. Credence hadn’t been able to see that on that cold December afternoon in New York all those months ago but he had seen it a week ago in the Pensieve.

And ever since Percival turned up four days ago, Credence had found himself more and more frustrated with the man for holding back, for not just letting go.

What did the stupid age-difference matter anyway? Credence thought to himself and kicked a stone that was in his way.

A little ways from him, Gertie were training the dragons to defend themselves from dangers, humans mostly. She had told him they would be ready to move back into the wild soon, and there was a part of Credence that wanted to scream and break china at the thought. He would miss them dearly, especially Juliet.

And Credence had come to realize what all those fights with Gertie had really been about. It had been about him. And when Percival had been as changeable as the wind, one minute close and warm and almost giving in, the next cold and pushing Credence away, all that had been because Percival had decided he was too old for Credence.

Credence turned back and walked into the study again. Percival was waiting patiently for him, sitting on the edge of the desk, his legs crossed and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, his waistcoat unbuttoned as well as the first few buttons on his shirt. It was very distracting indeed to see the veins and muscles on Percival’s strong arms move as he casually demonstrated wand movements with his left hand as the right one still had to rest in the sling.

“I thought maybe we should try the Patronus Charm, just for the fun of it. I don’t expect you to conjure up a corporeal Patronus on your first try, but it never hurts to start practicing.”

Percival showed him the movement with his wand.

“In order for this spell to work properly, even in the darkest, most hopeless situations, one needs a memory to cling to, but not just any memory, it needs to be a truly happy one, and a strong one.”

Credence couldn’t resist scoffing at that.

Percival only gave him a patient look.

Credence had begun to dislike that look. It wasn’t real. The small smile didn’t reach Percival’s eyes. He wasn’t genuinely happy. And Credence knew why.

“I realize the subject might not be the most joyous one to you, Credence, but I am convinced you have good memories as well, if the past few times I’ve been here with you smiling and laughing is any indication.”

Finding his happiest memory was easy. Kissing Percival.

“Have you found a memory?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat after me; _Expecto Patronum_.”

“ _Expecto Patronum_.”

“Think really hard about your memory, let it fill up your entire being, then move your wand like I showed you before and say the spell.”

Credence did. He thought about the soft pressure of Percival’s lips against his, he remembered the warmth of his body pressed against his own and the taste of his tongue.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

Nothing happened.

Credence gave a frustrated sigh.

“Perhaps the memory wasn’t strong enough,” Percival suggested. “However, I think it has more to do with the level of skill and experience required to cast a Patronus. You shouldn’t feel disheartened, Credence. This is very advanced magic, and far from all wizards or witches manages it. Besides, you have only been learning to harness your magic for less than two months and you’ve already made such progress.” This time his smile did reach his eyes.

“Now, I think we should call this a day when it comes to spell work at least. It’s clear that your mind is not in it, and that is quite alright,” he added quickly as Credence couldn’t help glaring at him.

“I might seem ancient to you, Credence, but I do remember what it’s like being your age,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Gertie did tell me you had both bumped into a charming young man down at the pub and…”

“You’ve always known,” Credence interrupted him. He couldn’t stand looking at Percival pretending to be as casual about the prospect of Credence being with someone else, as if they had simply been discussing the weather.

“Yes,” Percival said quietly, the horrible false smile finally all gone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Credence snapped then.

“I didn’t want…”

“To scare me away, is that it?”

“Partly, yes. But also because I found a bruised and beaten boy so desperate for affection, I feared you might do anything I asked, or anything you might think I expected of you, to get it. Even if it might not be something you yourself actually wanted to do.” Percival’s voice was quiet and strained.

“You went to Europe to kill Grindelwald, knowing it might mean your death rather than kiss me!” Credence shouted at him.

“How… How do you know about that?” Percival stuttered, staring wide-eyed at Credence.

“What are you so afraid of? What is so terrible about me that you can’t even admit your stupid feelings?” Credence kept on shouting, at the top of his lungs. There was a rage within him, a rage fed by pure anger from within, not darkness like before, and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Credence, I’m too old for you,” Percival sighed, casting his eyes down.

“I don’t care!” Credence bellowed. “I don’t care if you think you’re too old!”

“Credence,” Percival tried but Credence only glared at him.

“You want to know about Michael down at the pub? Do you? Alright. I’ll tell you about Michael. He is one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen and his skin is like chocolate and his eyes are dark wells you could drown in and he has earrings that glitter in the dim light of the pub and when he winks his eye at you he’ll make your knees tremble and when he kisses you the world stops! Is that what you want to know?”

Percival didn’t answer. He only hung his head a little, staring at his feet.

“But you know something he isn’t? He isn’t _you_. I tried, I really really tried to feel something with him but I didn’t because he just isn’t _you_. Because you, Percival Graves, you with all your silly pride is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen and I can’t think about being with someone else because I don’t want to!”

Credence felt like the air had gone out of him and he slumped into an armchair, blinking furiously at the stupid tears welling up in his eyes.

For a long time, silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the roar of the dragons in the garden.

“You’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Percival said finally in a soft voice. And then he laughed, humorlessly, to himself and wiped at his eyes. “I had a feeling Queenie Goldstein was hearing far too much for my liking ever since I got back. No one else would know where I store the Pensieve. I’m not angry,” he added with a small smile.

“I wouldn’t care if you were. Queenie didn’t do anything wrong,” Credence muttered.

“Did she give you a reason?”

“Yes. She said you would never tell me yourself and that it would kill you in the end,” he said, moderating slightly what she had actually said.

“She’s not wrong,” Percival said, laughing that humorless laugh again.

“And neither are you. Yes, I went to Europe to find and kill or if possible, capture Grindelwald rather than owning up to what I realized I was feeling for you. But it is not your fault in any way that I went, it is mine entirely. And it is my fault for letting my focus slip a few nights ago,” he added, indicating the sling with a small wave of his left hand. “But I want you to know, I didn’t leave because there’s something terrible or wrong with you, I left because I could no longer trust myself around you. My professional interest had obviously been compromised and I knew my feelings for you would cloud my judgement. Merlin, I was ready to rip that vile woman apart that time in the alley. I would have, had you only asked it of me. Isn’t it funny?” he huffed. “Grindelwald thought he knew all about power and that he could defeat me, when in actual reality, it was you who had the power over me. I reckon there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

Credence got up from the armchair. He let his fingers brush against Percival’s left hand and he leaned his forehead against the top of Percival’s bowed head. He stroked his left hand and then gently interlaced his fingers with Percival’s.

“I’ve not been kind to you,” Percival said, drawing a shuddering breath.

“No,” Credence agreed.

“I thought…”

“I know,” Credence said softly and cupped his free hand around Percival’s cheek. “But you were wrong.”

Percival laughed humorlessly again and as he met Credence’s eyes, they were unusually shiny.

“I’m too old and damaged, Credence,” he whispered.

It was Credence’s turn to laugh humorlessly now.

“I think I still win as far as damaged goes,” he said and stroked his thumb across Percival’s cheekbone.

“You saw what he did to me…”

“So? I’ll hold you in the night when you can’t sleep because of bad memories,” Credence murmured and lifted Percival’s hand to press his lips against it.

“It’s my fault Grindelwald found you and used you and MACUSA nearly killed you. What if you get hurt like that again? What if I hurt you like that again?” Percival said, a shiny tear running down his cheek.

“I won’t let you,” Credence smiled and bent down to kiss away his tears.

“Credence, I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you because of me. And I don’t ever want to be the reason you’re hurting again. But I can’t promise you you’ll never be hurt again because of me.”

“I can turn into a murderous cloud of smoke and ash,” Credence laughed quietly. “I think we’ll just have to risk your grumpiness. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I’m not talking about…”

“I know.”

“Credence…”

“Stop trying to talk me out of this, Percival. You’re not gonna win. I know what I’m signing up for and I’m still signing up for it. I’m not a scared little boy anymore.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Percival whispered hoarsely.

“I don’t care.”

And then Credence bent down and pressed his lips against Percival’s and the man let out a soft moan, full of need and longing, that sent a shiver down Credence’s spine. With his left hand, Percival pulled Credence as close as he could get and Credence cupped his face in his hands like he intended to never let go.

“You beautiful creature,” Percival whispered against his lips. “How could I ever resist you in the end?”

Credence couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up inside of him.

“It was a hopelessly lost battle before it even began. I’m sorry it took me this long to admit it,” Percival whispered.

“You are unusually slow for a Director of Magical Law Enforcement, aren’t you?” Credence smiled, his eyes glittering mischievously.

“Are you calling me stupid?” Percival laughed.

“What if I am?”

“Well, I can’t argue with that. You’re not wrong,” Percival said and tilted his head up, pressing his lips against Credence’s again. Then suddenly, he laughed and pressed his hand gently against Credence’s chest.

“What?” Credence said, biting his lip.

“Gertie just popped her head through the doors to the gardens,” Percival smiled fondly. “And she tried to sneak out again without me noticing.”

“I guess she failed,” Credence smiled and kissed Percival again.

“She did. But I’m sure she’ll be starting with lunch soon and I hardly think either of us will be able to concentrate on any more spells today,” he added, his eyes glittering mischievously. “Let’s go help her with the vegetables. Come on.”

As Percival made to get up from the desk, Credence gave him one more kiss before letting him go. He had never been this happy before in his life. He felt like he was made of sunshine and butterflies and jelly.

 

 

For a brief moment, Credence had worried Gertie might waggle her eyebrows knowingly at him when they came down to the kitchen, but she made no mention of having caught them embracing.

After lunch, Percival had to sit down with rapports and papers that came by owl every morning and every evening. Credence helped Gertie with the dragons and then they proceeded to Transfiguration. They were currently working on turning tiny pebbles into wooden buttons.

“Well well, look at that!” Gertie smiled as Credence had managed to transform all his ten pebbles into simple wooden buttons. “Someone’s in a good mood today!” Gertie grinned at him then and winked, the only indication that she knew the reason for his happiness.

Credence couldn’t help but beam at her.

 

 

Credence couldn’t sleep. He kept tossing and turning and ending up on his back, staring out into the darkness and the intricately carved ceiling of his four-poster bed.

He heaved a great sigh and then he tossed the covers aside and tiptoed to his door. It had been quiet for a good hour at least.

He turned the handle ever so slowly and peeked out into the hallway. Even in the dim light, he could tell Gertie’s door was closed.

Credence crept down the hall as quietly as possible and when he reached Percival’s door, he gave it a soft knock before he opened it and snuck inside.

Percival sat up immediately, his wand drawn with his right hand even though the medi-wizards had told him to use his right as little as possible.

“Credence?” he asked quietly and lowered the wand a little.

“Yes,” Credence answered and closed the door soundlessly behind him. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added and went over to the bed, reaching down to kiss Percival.

“It’s alright,” Percival assured him against his lips before he moved a little to let Credence crawl under the covers. He held out his left arm for Credence to rest his head on but Credence kissed him again and slid his leg over Percival’s until he was straddling the man.

“Slow down, Credence,” Percival said and pushed gently against his chest. “Wait.”

“What?” Credence asked and sat up, trying to hide his hurt at the rejection. "Don’t you want me?"

"I do, Credence. You know I do. But..." he sighed. 

"What?" Credence snapped and clambered out of the bed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. 

"Credence, please," Percival pleaded quietly, catching his hand awkwardly in his left. "Please stay."

"I'm not very good at letting people in, Credence," he said softly and gently squeezed Credence’s hand. “Is this not enough for now?”

“Yes,” Credence said after a while and climbed back into the soft bed next to Percival. “It is,” he added and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips before he rested his head on the man's chest. The fabric of his pyjama was soft under Credence's cheek and he could hear the rhythmic thumping of Percival's heart. Percival stroked his back in big, slow circles. Before long, Credence drifted off to sleep.

 

 

“Alright, alright!” Percival growled sleepily and Credence squinted in the morning light. “Get off me you big brute, I’m awake!”

Joel barked happily and when the dog noticed Credence being awake too, he barked again and licked Credence all over the face.

Credence laughed and wrapped his arms around the wriggling dog.

“Good morning, Joel,” he said and the dog barked again.

Percival got out of bed and started unbuttoning his pyjama shirt. Credence didn’t know where to look. Percival must have caught sight of his reddening cheeks because he chuckled to himself and gave Credence a sly look.

“Suddenly so shy,” he said and clicked his tongue. “You’ve seen far more of me than this,” he added and Credence’s cheeks reddened even more.

“And, should you like to,” he said with a mischievous grin as he walked over to the bed. “I grant you, you will see more,” he teased and kissed Credence slowly. “All in due time.”

Joel the dog wagged his tail so hard it all but whipped Credence’s legs, but the dog stayed quiet as Percival leaned in and kissed Credence again.

“What’s wrong?” Credence asked, alarmed as Percival suddenly winced.

“Nothing. I’m just not very good at listening to the medi-wizards,” Percival said and shook his head. He rubbed his right shoulder a little before he straightened up.

Credence didn’t know what to say. He gently pushed Joel off of him and sat up as Percival shrugged off his pyjama shirt with an irritable sigh. As he started to pull off his pants as well, Credence quickly looked down at Joel, making sure to keep his eyes on the golden fur. Apparently, Percival didn’t wear anything under his pyjama pants. Credence felt his cheeks redden even more.

“Credence?” Percival asked softly after a small while.

“Yes?” Credence asked without looking up, which brought a chuckle from Percival.

“It’s alright, you can look, I’m decent. Well, as decent as I can be in my underwear I suppose. But I require your assistance, if you don’t mind. I’m having trouble these days you see, since my right arm is still somewhat incapacitated.”

He was standing in his undershirt and a pair of underwear, holding out a bunch of leather straps to Credence.

“What do I do?” Credence asked as he got up and took the leather contraption from Percival’s outstretched, left hand.

“Just place it around my knee, that should do the trick.”

Credence nodded and knelt beside Percival, untangling the leather straps and then wrapping it around Percival’s right knee. Credence had to swallow hard as shivers went through his entire body when his fingers brushed against the hair and skin on Percival’s leg.

As soon as he had gotten the contraption in the right place, it tightened around Percival’s knee on its own accord. But Credence still had to fasten the straps by hand.

“Grindelwald did quite a number on my leg,” Percival said quietly as Credence got up from the floor. “Remember that vile drink I gave you that time in the alley? Well. It’s a potion to regrow bones. I can imagine you had quite the hellish night. Let’s just say, regrowing the bones in your leg takes longer than a night and it’s not something I wish upon anyone. Well, save for the man who inflicted it upon me maybe,” he added through gritted teeth.

“Even so, after four horribly long nights and days with the bones growing back, I still limped. The medi-wizards can only do so much against magical injuries. Had he shattered my leg with brute force, it would have been another matter entirely. But he used magic, dark, ancient magic. And I’ll be damned if I have to walk with a cane before my sixties,” he continued and laughed humorlessly.

Credence wrapped his arms around Percival, drawing him close so he could kiss him.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly, leaning his forehead against Percival’s.

“Yes. This helps though,” Percival said and tapped the leather contraption. “Some of the best wizards and witches of MACUSA came together to conjure this up. They call it ‘Stubborn Straps’ when they think I can’t hear them,” he added with a soft chuckle and pulled on his pants and his shirt.

“Let me,” Credence said and gently interrupted Percival’s fingers as they had started to button the white shirt.

“To think I’d be buttoning the DMLE’s shirt one day,” he said with a smile and Percival laughed.

Credence helped him with the waistcoat and finally to put his right arm back into the sling he used during the days.

“A couple more days,” Percival sighed and flicked his fingers at the fabric of the sling. “And then I’m throwing this to the dragons to fry it into smoldering ash.”

Credence only laughed and kissed him again. Percival sure was rather adorable when he was angry or irritated, Credence decided.

 

 

June passed in a warm blur. The dragons grew bigger by the day, and Credence learned more and more magic. Esther and Elsa visited as often as they could and lately Esther had begun bringing her beau, Oswald. He was a jolly man with a spectacular beard and the beginnings of a rather portly build. Credence found himself laughing a lot around Oswald, and seeing Esther’s giddy smile whenever she glanced at her beau, filled Credence with bubbling laughter.

Credence never slept alone anymore. Either he snuck into Percival’s room, or Percival snuck into his. And true to his word, Credence did get to see a lot more of Percival’s body. Two weeks after Credence had first spent the night with him, Credence, red-cheeked and breathless, saw Percival in all his naked glory for the first time.

A couple of days after that, Percival let Credence’s trembling, fumbling hands explore every single inch of his handsome, scarred body. In turn, Percival’s hands roamed over Credence and taught him so many things Credence had never even dared to dream about.

 

“What?” Percival murmured sleepily and pulled Credence closer.

“Gertie says you trim your eyebrows,” Credence answered, smiling, his finger tracing the well-shaped, dark eyebrows of Percival’s.

“She does, does she?” Percival chuckled softly. “What else does she say about me, hm?”

He opened his eyes and kissed Credence teasingly slow.

“She calls you a grumpy old bastard all the time,” Credence smiled and tried to kiss Percival who drew back surprisingly fast.

“Well,” Percival grinned and slowly trailed kisses along Credence’s jaw. “Do you think she’s right?” he asked teasingly.

Credence could only laugh as Percival’s kisses sent a million impossible shivers through his entire body.

“Ah, I see. Well, in that case I’m afraid I must take it upon myself to prove her wrong,” Percival said, his grin widening.

That night, Credence learned the blissfully wicked things Percival could do with his tongue and mouth.

 

The next morning, Gertie grinned and waggled her eyebrows at Percival as she sipped her tea. Over the edge of the cup she shot him a smug look glittering of mischief.

“Forget something last night, uncle?” she said in a strangely casual voice and glanced at Credence and waggled her eyebrows at him instead.

Percival gave her a calculating look and ran his hand over his neatly combed hair.

“Not that I’m aware of, no,” he said finally, his eyes narrowed but a smile played in the corners of his mouth.

Credence had a horrible notion of where she might be headed and he felt his cheeks burning red as he poked his fork at the scrambled eggs and bacon on his plate.

“Ye didn’t forget to cast a certain spell then?”

“No,” Percival said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Which spell would that be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. One of the noise reducing kinds, perhaps?”

Percival dropped his coffee cup. Credence wouldn’t look up from his plate, cheeks burning even redder.

Gertie roared with laughter.

“Luckily, Credence, I’ve had a little chat with yer Charms teacher and she promised she’d take a look at different spells that might come in handy the next time,” Gertie said and was positively beaming, all smug and full of mischief.

When Credence glanced at Percival, he could tell the gorgeous man was doing his best not to grin himself.

 

On the last day of June, Tina, Newt, Queenie and Jacob turned up by Portkey in the gardens.

 

Gertie told him that the Halloran/Graves/Wilson School for Untrained Obscurials would take a short break during the preparations for the wedding. Though, Credence was definitely expected to help out with the decorations, seeing as his Levitation-spell was one of the best Professor Halloran had ever seen.

To that, Percival snickered and muttered “Professor Halloran!” and shook his head as he passed.

“What do ye think they call me when I’m teaching at Hogwarts ye grumpy bastard?” Gertie called after him with a wide grin and fondness in her voice.

As Percival flashed him a wicked grin, Credence felt his cheeks turn bright red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. The confrontation, and Percival and Credence together at last, finally. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Happy Holidays all of you!


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